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THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 





u Is there such a man, good Dugel?” 

Frontispiece. See Page 218 . 


THE 

PIPES OP CLOVIS 

A FAIRY ROMANCE OF THE 
TWELFTH CENTURY 

BY 

GRACE DUFFIE BOYLAN 

It 

AUTHOR OF “ THE STEPS TO NOWHERE ” 


ILLUSTRATED 

EMILY HALL CHAMBERLIN 


BOSTON 

LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 
1913 



.BU 

? 


Copyright , 1913, 

By Little, Brown, and Company. 

All rights reserved 

Published, September, 1913 


up and electrotyped by J. S. Cushing Co. Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. 
Presswork by S. J. Parkhill & Co., Boston, Mass., U.S.A. 



THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED 
TO 

MY BELOVED SISTER AND FAITHFUL FRIEND 


JULIET S. GOODENOW 


> 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 


I. 

Dugel Dances .... 


1 

H. 

Skoal to the Queen ! 


9 

III. 

The Song of the Steed 


23 

IV. 

Jelly Tarts and Iron Soldiers . 


34 

V. 

The Castle Hall 


43 

VI. 

The White Sword 


58 

VII. 

Three Jolly Gnomes . 


67 

VIII. 

The Watchers in the Tower 


77 

IX. 

Black Slazek’s Raiders 


86 

X. 

The Winding Stairway 


93 

XI. 

The Capture .... 


101 

XII. 

The King’s Proclamation . 


111 

XIII. 

The Patteran .... 


121 

XIV. 

Berthada’s Ride 


134 

XV. 

The Princess and the Potter . 


142 

XVI. 

The Toy-makers’ Village . 


156 

XVII. 

The Ballad of the Merry Robbers 


170 

XVIII. 

The Face in the Tapestry 


191 

XIX. 

The Illuminated Parchment 


204 

XX. 

The War-lord .... 


215 

XXI. 

The Armorers’ Song . 


226 

XXII. 

The Tournament 


234 

XXIII. 

The Conqueror .... 


244 












LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


“ Is there such a man, good Dugel ? ” Frontispiece ^ 

PAGE 

They stood now and watched her come in sight 


at the turn of the stair . . . . 45 ^ 

“ Can you not read ? ” he asked resentfully . 113 ^ 

They softly carried in the armor . • . 233 " 






























































» 



< 















CHAPTER I 


DUGEL DANCES 

D OWN the road came Dugel, danc- 
ing with his shadow. The sun 
was behind him. It was yellow 
afternoon. 

He was dressed in motley. From his 
foolish cap and pointed cape swung little 
bells. He waved his jingling wand to his 
jigging shadow. The shadow waved back 
at him without a sound. Dugel chuckled, 
and there was an answering laugh from 
the woods that edged the highway. 

The minstrel stopped capering and 
looked toward the thicket. 

“That sound might have been an 
echo,” he said, smiling. “But it was 
not.” 


2 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


There was a piping trill from among the 
leaves. 

“That might be a bird,” observed 
Dugel, tilting his head to one side and 
regarding the foliage attentively, “but 
it is not !” 

Then the branches parted; and in their 
green frame was a merry, roguish face 
under a thatch of red-gold hair. 

“Hey dey,” cried Dugel, “I knew your 
pipes. Come forth with you !” 

Clovis burst through the blossomy 
branches and leaped to a rock beside the 
turnpike, where he stood for a moment 
with the sunshine tangled in his hair and 
his blue eyes glinting with laughter. 

“Heigho!” he called, answering. But 
he did not come near, although Sir Dugel 
beckoned him. For he was a shy, wild- 
wood boy, and his ways were the ways of 
the forest. 

“Heigho!” Dugel greeted with a 


DUGEL DANCES 


3 


friendly smile. “Eh, but you are tall, 
tall as a lance !” 

The man had a wise head under his 
foolish cap, and was, by turn, jester and 
counsellor to the king. Now his glance 
rested on the lithe young body kindly. 

The boy was clad in a single garment, 
which left his lean legs and sun-stained 
arms bare and free. Dugel, reflecting upon 
his way of holding his head, his deep, full 
breathing, his every motion which revealed 
both grace and power, thought that he 
should like to see him in a race or in an 
Olympian game which might test his en- 
durance and skill. But, poised on the rock, 
as though ready to dart back into the 
green shades of the forest at any moment, 
Clovis had little thought of a contest of 
any kind. 

He carried nothing in his hand, not even 
an arrow. But around his neck, on a 
chain of braided grasses, hung a set of 


4 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


seven hollow reeds, the longest but the 
length of his smallest finger ; and all 
bound together by a twisted stem. 

It was upon this instrument that the 
jester’s gaze rested as he demanded : 
“How now, piping prankster ! What new 
tricks? What new tricks to-day?” 

But Clovis only showed his white teeth 
in a roguish grin. 

“The ‘Bad Baron’ is in a fearsome 
rage,” continued Dugel, shaking his head 
and pointing, with mock sternness, to the 
stone peaks of Baron Werthum’s castle, 
that could be seen over the hill from where 
they stood. 

“The poor, bad gentleman did nothing 
whatever but lash a horse in his own 
stable, and, perchance, somewhat cruelly 
mistreat the stock — but now his cow- 
pens are empty, his sheep are gone, his 
piglets all coaxed away. He has sent men 
everywhere in search of the animals. But 


DUGEL DANCES 


5 


all are returning without news. There is 
not a chick or a duck on his land, let alone 
a steed.” 

He stopped and wiped his eyes with the 
point of his cape, setting every bell into a 
rippling tune. 

“Mark how bitterly I weep over the 
sorrows of the poor, forsaken, beastless, 
birdless baron,” said he. 

But Clovis only smiled. 

“Some folk,” continued Dugel, recover- 
ing from his grief with remarkable quick- 
ness, “may think that flocks and herds 
unlock stable doors and unhasp the bars 
of pastures of their own accord. But I 
have my own notion of how such marvels 
come about. Listen and I will share my 
notion with you.” 

Then with his merry glances still on 
the boy’s mischievous face, Dugel, some- 
times the wise, but now every inch the 
jester, danced with the grotesque black 


6 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


shape that the sun cast before him on the 
dusty road and sang: 

’Twas yesternight when the moon was dark, 

I heard a fairy lute, a fairy lute, sir : 

I tip-toed out, and I said : ‘ Hist ! Hark ! 

I hear the trample, trample of a brute, sir/ 

I thought ’twas one, I thought ’twas ten — 
But mark me for a silly, sleepy coot, sir ! 

I heard a ‘moo,’ a ‘baa/ and then — 

A piper leading onward with a flute, sir ! 

He stopped his song and the gay antics 
with which he had been keeping a sort of 
time to its measures. But, when he turned 
to point an accusing finger at Clovis, the 
boy had disappeared. So he nodded his 
head knowingly and muttered to himself : 

“Whoof, but he is an odd one ! There 
is no foulr-footed thing afield that will 
not follow the pipes of the forester’s lad. 
What strange magic can there be in his 
soft measures?” 

He stood for a while lost in thought, — 


DUGEL DANCES 


7 


a slender, scholarly-looking and youthful 
man, for all his motley: a costume which 
would likely be changed for a court dress or 
the quiet habit of the king’s secretary when 
he should return to the castle. But, with a 
gay shrug of his shoulders and a return of 
his old merry manner, he peered into the 
leafy twilight of the woods and went on his 
way, singing, as he went, for the benefit 
of the boy whom he knew to be hidden 
somewhere in the near-by thicket ; al- 
though he was pondering the matter of the 
magic fluting rather seriously in his heart. 

‘Quack, quack, quack/ said the duck, 
‘Cluck, cluck, cluck/ said the hen, 

‘We surely have struck 

A bit of good luck 

To find a snug home in a glen, 

Glen, glen. a 
To peacefully perch in a glen/ 

The foolish song grew faint in the dis- 
tance, and Clovis, emerging from his leafy 


8 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


covert, where, as Dugel supposed, he had 
been listening all the time, ran out again 
to the sunlighted road. A moment he 
stood listening, his bright blue eyes glanc- 
ing from left to right. Then, as there was 
no one approaching from any direction, he 
blew seven soft, signalling notes on the 
reeds. The signals were answered almost 
immediately by the crackling of twigs 
and crunch of brittle turf, as a huge 
brown bear came lumbering with awkward 
haste out of the wood to the very side of 
the piper. 

With a laugh of triumph, the lad threw 
his arm over the great beast’s shaggy 
shoulders, as one might caress a favorite 
hound, then with a call of: “Come, Wild- 
fellow, good Wildfellow,” he again raised 
the pipes to his lips, and playing with 
many soft variations of his first melody, 
strode back among the trees, with the bear 
steadily following him. 


CHAPTER II 


SKOAL TO THE QUEEN ! 

C LOVIS lived in the depths of the 
Black Forest with his father, a 
gnarled, gray man in green, who 
was head forester to King Karl, the 
Quarrelsome. 

The place, overrun with wild vines, ap- 
peared but a ridge of leaf mold between 
two giant sycamores. There were no win- 
dows, and the door swung on a leathern 
hinge. Sometimes a light shone redly 
through the cracks of the rudely hewn 
timbers. That was when Gid, the forester, 
was at home with a hunting party to enter- 
tain, and they built a great fire on the 
hearth that filled the cabin’s side, and 
roasted a wild boar or other game for 


10 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


supper. This fireplace was built of stones 
gathered from the fields beyond the 
Danube, and it was a cave of glowing 
coals when, as on this day, the venison 
was swung between its arches. 

In front of the low hut with the mossy 
roof that was his home the boy stopped, 
and the shaggy companion that had shared 
his hours of wandering in the woods 
trotted off through the trees in the dark- 
ness. 

It was now evening. Clovis found three 
merry gentlemen sitting at the rudely 
fashioned table before a smoking trencher 
of corn, the full ears still flecked with the 
silvery ashes in which they had been 
roasted, while Gid, knife in hand, cut 
brown, savory slices from the meat, as it 
cooked over the coals, and served his 
company. 

The delicate nostrils of the boy caught 
the appetizing odor of the food, for he had 


SKOAL TO THE QUEEN! 


ii 


wandered long and was as hungry as a 
young wolf. But he had been none too 
gently taught that his father expected him 
to wait in silence, and without making his 
presence known, until the guests had de- 
parted. So he slipped into a shadowy 
corner made by the jutting chimney, where 
he could see without being seen. And 
thus it happened that he heard a conver- 
sation which was the means of changing 
him from a piping prankster into a man 
with a purpose. 

Changes like this are not unusual in the 
lives of boys in whose young bosoms man- 
hood only waits the call to manly deeds. 
And Clovis had listened many times before 
this, while gentlemen of the court, some- 
times the king and his own company, had 
freely talked before Gid’s rousing fire after 
the hunt was over. 

All that the boy knew of the life of 
camp, of town, and of the great cities 


12 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


that were so far beyond the encircling trees 
of his native forest, he had learned through 
what these nobles said. And although he 
had heard many an unknightly jest and 
foolish tale of make-believe adventures, 
he had, with all, been able to gain, to some 
degree, a notion of the manners of his 
time. 

His education depended wholly upon 
what he saw and heard, and his eyes and 
his ears were as keen as any other wild- 
wood thing’s to every sight and sound. 

But, as a matter of fact, the culture of 
that time, which was in the last quarter 
of the twelfth century, was restricted to 
the few who chanced to be bookishly in- 
clined. Five hundred years before the 
schools of Charlemagne had flourished ; 
but now there was no Alcuin in Swabia to 
teach young princes other arts than those 
of war. Some of the ruling families of the 
many tiny kingdoms into which the land 


SKOAL TO THE QUEEN! 


13 


was then divided sent their sons to Aix- 
la-Chapelle to read the same books that 
their fathers had read before them, and to 
gain such other knowledge as the grudging 
bishops gave. 

Karl, who was far more nimble with a 
sword than with a pen, brought teachers 
for his children from France and Ireland. 
Of these the versatile Sir Dugel, of Kells, 
was easily the chief. And under the tute- 
lage of the sometimes jester and always 
wise man of the court, the Swabian princes, 
boys and girls alike, received instruction in 
the arts and sciences. 

But now, in the huntsman’s hut, Clovis 
listened with small interest while the 
hunters described the adventures of the 
chase. They had killed a number of hap- 
less things. He wished it had not been 
so. For, as Sir Dugel had guessed, the 
boy was to the animals both playmate and 
friend. But when another bit of news was 


14 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


given, in the careless conversation of the 
gentlemen around the rudely spread board, 
Clovis sat up, listening with every sense 
alert. 

“His majesty rides forth again to- 
morrow,” observed a knight, whom the 
others called “Sir Hubert,” as he tossed 
a morsel to the deerhound at his knee. 
“He goes to fight with Dacia for a strip 
of river boundary.” 

Lord Eric of the North, the second of 
the trio, shrugged an indifferent shoulder. 
He was a stranger and not concerned. 

Gid, the forester, dropped a piece of fat 
into the fire and scowled as it blazed. He 
was of the people who paid the war 
taxes. 

But Sir Hugo, the third member of the 
hunting company, whose father’s wide 
estates were in the Swabian vale, spoke 
with quick anger. 

“As well not have a king as to have one 


SKOAL TO THE QUEEN! 


15 


whose every thought is warfare ! What do 
his people gain but hard taxation for his 
many quarrels ? Small wonder that they 
murmur !” 

“Your schooling has given you great 
tenderness for the people,” mocked Hubert, 
albeit good-naturedly. For it was well 
known that Sir Hugo had become deeply 
interested in the humbler folk since he 
had been at school in Strassburg, where 
his heart had broadened to keep pace with 
his intellect. “But, by my faith, the 
peasants scarce would know they lived 
but for the tax they have to pay for 
living.” 

He laughed. But Hugo’s forehead still 
wrinkled with a frown. 

“It is not so much that they are taxed 
that now concerns me,” he replied, “but 
that the land is left without defense. 
The king rides forth to-morrow with his 
army. But, in case of an attack by 


i6 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


even a small force from the unnumbered 
enemies that Karl has made, the queen 
could scarce call out a score of lances.” < 
He rose as he spoke, and, crossing, 
struck open the door with the hilt of his 
hunting blade, while the dogs that had 
been gnawing the bones thrown to them on 
the earthern floor ran out clamorously. 

“They tell me,” said Lord Eric, as Sir 
Hugo returned to his seat, “that this de- 
fenseless lady is a tender mother.” 

“’Tis true,” interrupted Sir Hubert 
eagerly. “She is loving even as she is 
beautiful — ” 

“Ha, is she so fair?” the Northman 
inquired laughingly. “Then, by my 
sword, her cause concerns me. Come, we 
will be her guardsmen, and like Leonidas 
of ancient days, who held the pass Ther- 
mopylae against the Persian hosts, we’ll 
’fend the castle road — ” 

But waving his hand to silence the big, 


SKOAL TO THE QUEEN ! 


17 


laughing Norseman, Sir Hubert said seri- 
ously : 

“In truth I would that some of us that 
have been trained to fight might stay at 
home in such a case as this. But Karl 
will have each man of us in casque and 
mail mounted beside him to swell the 
clatter of the hoofs that shake the high- 
way. His pride is in the number of his 
spears. He counts us jealously. In vain 
he has been urged to leave a troop in 
Swabia when he goes away. Even Sir 
Dugel, who has his ear at other times, 
could not persuade him. 

“‘The land is safe,’ he said. ‘No one 
would dare to strike an armed heel on the 
stair of any one of Hildegarde’s five towers. 
The name of Karl is as mighty as his 
lance ! ’ ” 

“Said he so?” cried Eric. “Is then 
your monarch childish or but mad?” 

But Hugo, with a gesture, silenced him. 


i8 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS, 


And Hubert, looking thoughtfully into the 
fire, murmured : 

“I, myself, know it for a truth that 
every night our lady leaves the ladies of 
the court, and even the minstrel singing 
in the hall, to go in haste up the winding 
stair of that tall tower to croon her babes 
to slumber on her breast.” 

The bluff men fell into a silence after 
this. Then Eric raised the wassail bowl 
and cried : “ Skoal to the Queen !” 

And in a moment the others were on their 
feet and joining in the Northman’s cry. 

But they did not see, as they stood with 
their brimmed beakers raised and as they 
clanged them empty on the oaken board, 
that a boyish figure in the shadow of the 
chimney nook was standing with them to 
pledge the queen. Nor could they know 
that he had more power to serve her with 
his empty hands than had they with their 
swords ! 


SKOAL TO THE QUEEN! 


19 


“Skoal to the Queen !” Once more the 
wassail bowl was raised. Then the knights 
prepared for their departure, Sir Hugo and 
Sir Hubert to make ready for the war 
gallop at the dawning, and Lord Eric, of 
the North, to say farewell to his hosts in 
Swabia and to return to Scandia. 

“Come, Gid,” Sir Hubert called to the 
forester, who was finishing his supper at 
the table, “the hounds are baying. Let’s 
away.” 

And as Gid drained his cup and made 
haste to follow them, they went out, leav- 
ing the boy alone. 

But after he had eaten his supper and 
had cleared the place into order again, 
Clovis sat down and gazed into the fire, 
until the coals fell into embers and the 
embers into ashes, cold and gray. And a 
deep longing filled his heart to hear that 
mother’s voice. He even tried to imagine 
what the song might be like that she sang 


20 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


above her little ones in that high tower 
that sentinelled the vale. But although 
the wistful mind of the motherless boy 
pictured her eyes and her smile, he tried 
in vain to fancy the low, crooning melody. 
And so sleep came to him. 

But in his dreams he did not see the 
merry minstrel, Dugel, dancing in the sun. 
Nor did he have a vision of the talked-of 
war. He dreamed, instead: and it was 
passing strange; that in his ancient wood 
he met a little girl. 

Her silver slippers shone against the 
dark green moss. And around her slender, 
white-clad form was what appeared to 
him, unlearned in ornaments, to be a fairy 
girdle strung with drops of dew. But, 
although he tried, he could not see her 
face, for it was veiled by a frail thing, as 
fine as frosted cobwebs, depending from 
the pointed cap she wore. She came and 
went, — a dancing, glancing sprite. Now 


SKOAL TO THE QUEEN! 


21 


here, now there, now darting between the 
trees and disappearing but to come again. 

The boy tried to wrench his feet from 
the detaining earth that he might follow 
her. But, to his dismay, he found that he 
had become an oak and taken root where 
he stood, and could not stir, save as a tree 
stirs, bending to and fro. 

Once, swaying thus, he almost touched 
her hand. Once as she fled by, softly 
laughing, he felt the silken flutter of 
her scarf upon his face. It was at this 
he started, broad awake, to find a dew- 
spangled cobweb in his eyes. 

He sprang up with a laugh and was out 
and away to a fern-edged pool, a dozen 
spear-lengths from his door. 

“It is better,” he said, as he laid his 
hands together palm to palm above his 
shining head and bent his body in a bow 
for the great dive, “it is better to be a 
boy than a tree !” 


22 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


Then the waters leaped in rainbow 
colored spray above him, and he swam 
until the vision of the night was almost 
washed away. 


CHAPTER III 


THE SONG OF THE STEED 


A T dawn the troops rode forth with 
much clattering of armor. 

Clovis heard them and sprang 
to his feet. But, although he ran out and 
tried to pierce with his glance the dense 
foliage that shut him away from the road, 
he could not see the king’s soldiers in their 
glittering mail, as they galloped down the 
turnpike from the citadel and crossed the 
main highway on their way toward Dacia. 

But he did not need the evidence of his 
eyes to assure him that the guardsmen of 
Swabia were indeed riding away and leav- 
ing the land unprotected. The hunters 
who had gathered at his father’s board the 
night before had not been jesting on so 


24 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


grave a matter. And now, as he heard 
the hoof-beats die away in the distance, 
his mind was confused, his thoughts in a 
whirl, through which one question and one 
alone repeatedly and clearly presented it- 
self : 

“Suppose the Huns should come !” 

Clovis turned back into the hut to eat 
his breakfast, — a cup of goat’s milk and 
a crust of black bread, — but as he rekindled 
the fire on the hearth and prepared a more 
substantial meal for his father, who would 
soon be returning from his night-long 
watch in the king’s park, hungry and 
eager for rest, he found himself dwelling 
upon that one question : 

“What will befall Swabia should the 
Huns come while Karl is away with his 
army ? ” 

Many an old peasant in his field and 
many an old woman in her cabin was ask- 
ing the same thing. For the Huns had 


THE SONG OF THE STEED 25 


ridden that way in times past, leaving 
burned crops and sacked villages. It is 
true that only the very old remembered 
these raids and spoke of them with dread. 
For Karl had taken all his wars abroad 
and his own valley had been, for many 
years, in peace. But there had been 
rumors, of late, that were disquieting. 
Neighboring kingdoms had been given 
some hard fighting by half savage bands 
of Tartars ; the strongholds of several 
barons on the border lands had been 
stormed and plundered. And now that 
Swabia was really without defense, it was 
but natural that the old fear should return 
in some measure. 

Clovis had heard tales from his father 
of the days when the invaders had swept 
the blossoming lands with their red spears. 
He had never seen the queen or her daugh- 
ter, the princess; but after what he had 
heard from Sir Hubert, he began to adore 


26 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


the former as a saint in a near-by heaven. 
He thought of her now, brooding over her 
children, in that tower lifted on its hill 
and dark against the sky of early morning. 

His task finished, and his father still 
not come, he went out of doors and stood 
in the wood’s deep silences with his young 
head bowed in thought. When at last he 
lifted his face, it shone as though touched 
by a ray of sunlight, and he raised himself 
to his full height as he said aloud, with a 
vibrant challenge in his clear voice : 

“I will defend Swabia ! I pledge myself 
to the service of the queen !” 

The leaves whispered overhead. The 
grass rippled under a sudden wind. Then 
out of the stillness a crow laughed harshly 
and flew away. 

But the boy, his promise made, set out 
to gather brushwood for the hearth fire. 
This done, he played upon his pipes, — 
those marvellous reeds that he had cut and 


THE SONG OF THE STEED 


27 


tuned to such magical skill that Dugel 
had remarked them with wonder. 

It had taken much cunning to perfect 
the little instrument, and he had many 
times failed before he had tuned the reeds 
to his liking. But at last he had begun 
to breathe through them his thoughts full 
of music ; and after a long time, indeed it 
was a period of some years, he was able to 
produce such harmonious sounds that the 
wild creatures of the great woods would 
come at any time to listen to his pipings. 

His power to charm the animals and 
birds had been a surprise to him. He had 
had no playfellows, and, as has been said, 
his only knowledge of the world beyond 
the trees had been brought to him by his 
father’s lordly guests. So it happened, 
naturally enough, that his pipes became 
his constant company. He practiced his 
witching notes as he sat on a mossy knoll 
not far from his father’s hut, all uncon- 


28 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


scious that there were listeners that daily 
drew more near, until one time he raised 
his eyes to see the forest denizens crowding, 
huddling, and pressing around him. 

His shock of amazement was not un- 
mixed with fear. Then a rapture filled 
him, for he understood; and he sat where 
he was and played and played, until the 
great beasts came to press against his 
knees and rub their muzzles on his sun- 
browned shoulders. So it had come about. 
And he had had an immense amount of 
captivating sport trying to find how far 
his power went to charm the different 
animals. 

He had discovered, as he watched from 
time to time, that while one arrangement 
of notes attracted the wild beasts, quite 
another set of harmonies must be em- 
ployed to bring the domestic animals to 
him. 

It was this art, acquired after much 


THE SONG OF THE STEED 


29 


experimenting, that he had used to lure 
away the cattle and poultry of Baron 
Werthum, a cruel owner, who was known 
as the “bad” baron, on account of his 
harsh manner and scowling countenance. 
And Sir Dugel alone had guessed the secret 
and stored it away in his memory, in com- 
pany with other interesting observations 
he had made. For the forester’s boy had 
crossed his path from time to time when, 
tired of the court, the Irish teacher had 
come out to breathe the air of the woods. 

Clovis would have been much surprised 
had he known that he had a sympathetic 
friend in this companion of the king’s 
children. But as for him, he had lived all 
of his fifteen years in the wild and was 
well content to pass his days with no other 
comrade than his little flute, and the 
strange following that its music brought 
to him from the forest. 

He had felt some chagrin to find that 


30 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


the horses of the immense wild herds that 
ranged the wilderness had not yielded to 
his pipings. It was only when he came to 
play tumultuous melodies learned from the 
storms that sometimes passed in sublime 
fury over him, that the horses gave the 
slightest heed. Even then they had not 
come willingly, like the rest of the four- 
footed creatures, to listen close at hand. 
Only a few, the apparent outposts of the 
herds, stood afar off with delicate heads 
uplifted and sensitive ears pointed his way. 

He could see the flare of their red nos- 
trils ; he caught the gleam of their fearless 
eyes. But vainly he played his most 
alluring notes to win them to his side. 
Clearly there was some false quality in 
his music. He determined to find out 
what it was. 

Day and week went by, but still the 
reeds whistled in vain. Again and again, 
as he sat on the moss-grown knoll alone. 


THE SONG OF THE STEED 


3i 


while his father was absent, or sleeping 
in the hut between the sycamores, Clovis 
fluted all the combinations of enchanting 
sound that he had learned, and devised 
new harmonies. 

And then it became the desire of all 
the desires of his heart to find the key 
of the secret symphony that should charm 
the horse. 

That there was such a symphony within 
the compass of the world of sound, he 
had no doubt. To acquire it was the 
thing ! 

Again and again he tried. And again 
from their distance, at the edge of the 
wood, the wild herd listened, pawing the 
turf impatiently with their unshod hoofs. 
And the boy knew that they were not 
satisfied. 

Still they listened, as though aware of 
his intent. And that fact gave him 
courage. 


32 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


Something whispered in his soul that he 
must conquer them ! 

One day a steed more lordly than the 
rest came slowly from his place among the 
close standing herd and walked toward the 
piper. A star was on his breast. His 
coat shone like a burnished oak-leaf in 
autumn. His eyes held the night’s soft 
blackness. And as his glance met the 
boy’s glance, between them passed a flash 
of understanding. 

Then, with a toss of his beautiful head, 
the horse stopped where he was and neighed, 
and neighed again. And his strange, vi- 
brant call was based upon the very note 
the piper had been seeking. It was the 
cry of the spirit of the steed, — the weird, 
wild song of the unconquered. 

Clovis caught up his instrument ; it had 
almost fallen from his hand, but when he 
raised it to his mouth, his lips were 
trembling and he could make no sound. 


THE SONG OF THE STEED 


33 


But again he saw the luminous eyes of 
the brown horse regarding him. And his 
courage came back as he blew one thrill- 
ing call. Then down the chromatic scale 
he ran, hanging upon the single theme his 
countless subtler melodies; and his light 
notes rose like the twitter of birds over 
the thunder of hoofs as the horses galloped 
toward him. 

He had won. And from that day he 
held his mastery. 

But when the pipes were laid aside and 
the herd dispersed, it went without a 
leader. For the brown horse, the Best- 
Horse-in-the-World, stayed with Clovis. 


CHAPTER IV 


JELLY TARTS AND IRON SOLDIERS 

W HILE Clovis in his green forest 
was practising his strange arts 
and fluting his calls to horses, 
far and near, there were events of quite 
another character taking place in the five- 
towered castle, whose massive walls, built 
two centuries before by the first Duke of 
Swabia, were plainly visible from all the 
vale. 

This day, in truth, there had been a tre- 
mendous hue and cry among the serving- 
maids. And the confusion had been com- 
municated to the kitchen and stables, even 
reaching as far as the field where old Delve 
was transplanting cabbages. Brunda, the 
young assistant to the seventh cook, who 


JELLY TARTS AND IRON SOLDIERS 35 


always carried supper to Fritz and Ludwig, 
the royal twins, had had a most unusual 
experience in the dusky hall of the king’s 
armor; and she had come shrieking and 
flying back down the stairs, like a red- 
cheeked Valkyr with an apron for wings. 

Once in the kitchen and surrounded by 
the wondering but sympathetic servants, 
she threw herself down upon the hearth 
and began uttering short, sharp cries of 
terror, meantime beating a tattoo on the 
earthen floor with her pretty, red, wooden 
heels. 

Naturally enough it was not long before 
everybody from far and near came hurry- 
ing to the place. Delve, the gardener, and 
Strawbo, the stable-boy, had run up in 
great haste at the first alarm, upsetting 
old Colot, the poulterer, who was limping 
through the court to see what could be 
the matter. But he scrambled to his feet 
with surprising agility, and the three 


36 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


joined the group of woman servants at the 
door the minute after Brunda had dashed 
through it. 

While the women attempted to soothe 
and quiet the frightened lass, the men 
wanted to know what all the pother was 
about. 

“Out wi’ it, now,” commanded Delve, 
who, being the father of the little maid, 
could speak with authority. “I must get 
back to my cabbages.” 

But she continued to patter with her 
scarlet heels and cry, in spite of all their 
urgings, and she might have kept it up 
until the people had all lost interest and 
gone away, if Rudo had not suddenly come 
into the kitchen. 

Now Rudo was an apple-cheeked page 
who did any number of unnecessary things 
about the castle ; and the moment he came 
in sight, demanding what all the noise 
and commotion was about, Brunda sat 


JELLY TARTS AND IRON SOLDIERS 37 


up, stopped whimpering, smoothed her red 
petticoat, straightened her saucy cap, and 
began to tell her story. But Rudo, who 
had learned fine manners in the hall, bade 
her wait. Then he fetched a stool, and 
right gallantly gave her a hand to raise 
her to her feet. And he soon had her 
settled in the chimney-corner, with her 
heels quiet enough for her tongue to run 
ahead with the matter that they were all 
curious to hear. Then she surprised them 
by lifting her finger and whispering : 

“Ss ssh !” 

They had been quiet before, but now 
their hearts fairly seemed to stop beating. 

“Sh sshh !” repeated the gardener, her 
father, much startled, and tip-toeing further 
into the room. And as the warning ran 
around the kitchen, there was a perfect 
chorus of hisses as the servants glanced 
about the great, gloomy, shadowy place, 
fearing, they knew not what. 


38 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


Then Rudo’s laugh rang out so merrily 
that it cleared the air, as a big, honest 
laugh always will, and he cried to the 
old poulterer : 

“Hey, Colot, drive your geese out of 
the kitchen. By my word they are making 
such a tumult with their hissing that I can 
not hear a word of what our brave wench 
Brunda has to say.” 

He spoke good-naturedly, and Brunda, 
hearing herself called ‘brave/ preened a 
bit, and then began quietly: 

“I was crossing the hall with the tray 
of tarts for their highnesses, the royal 
twins, when the iron man that stands at 
the turn of the stair walked out and gripped 
me !” 

A shudder and squeal from the women 
huddled around her interrupted the nar- 
rative, but Brunda waved her fat, red hand 
at them and said, somewhat disdainfully : 
“There’s naught here that can scare you. 


JELLY TARTS AND IRON SOLDIERS 39 


Be still ! ” And they all sat down on the 
hearth at her feet. 

“There stood he,” she continued, “clank- 
ing his iron feet on the floor and glaring at 
me from his black visor — ” 

“ Wow ! ” The seventh cook sprang from 
the bench on which he had been seated and 
dropped a saucepan with a clang that 
brought all the listeners to their feet. 

“ ’Tis true. But not the worst of it,” de- 
clared Brunda, rather liking the effect that 
her story was having upon her audience, 
but disposed to deal somewhat sternly with 
their foolish fears. “For while I felt him 
grinning behind his iron mask, and stood 
trembling with knees like broken rushes, 
with the tarts on their golden plate in my 
shaking hand, what did I hear but a clink 
and a clang, and what did I see but 
another one coming from the corner of the 
hall—” 

She stopped, gurgling with excitement. 


40 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


and her gaping group of listeners shuddered 
visibly. 

“The second iron soldier,” she said, 
recovering her courage after a sly glance 
in Rudo’s direction, “clanked up and joined 
hands with the first one, and the two danced 
around me until I flung my tarts to the floor, 
broke from the knights’ spiked gauntlets, 
and ran and ran and ran !” 

She flung her apron over her head and 
rocked back and forth in an agony of 
remembrance. 

“Those were very good tarts,” groaned 
the seventh cook, but the other simple 
folk stood still and pale, with nothing to 
say. Then Rudo amazed them all by a 
burst of laughter that seemed to sparkle 
in the lowering air like golden spray. 
Peal after peal rang around the raftered 
room, while Brunda, uncovering her face, 
stared with round, inquiring eyes, and the 
others gazed at him with reproachful wonder. 


JELLY TARTS AND IRON SOLDIERS 41 


“Hist, lad,” cried old Colot, shaking his 
white head, “this be no jesting matter. 
I’ll warrant ’tis a warning that there’s 
trouble in the air.” 

“The Huns may be a-comin’,” added 
Delve, “but I must go to my cabbages.” 

He went out, muttering gloomily, fol- 
lowed by Colot and the stable-boy, and 
did not hear Rudo’s merry scoff : 

“Huns with a taste for jelly tarts !” 

Then, with a gesture he had learned in 
the hall, he cleared the kitchen, and the 
bewildered women went back, reluctantly 
and with much chattering, to their accus- 
tomed tasks. 

“Go back, Brunda,” he said, still smiling, 
when he was at last left alone with the little 
maid, “and I’ll give you a coral bead for 
every tiny flaky crumb that you can find 
of all your plate of goodies ! Meanwhile, 
take this !” 

He kissed her and ran out. And she, 


42 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


with a toss of her head which defied iron 
soldiers, and suddenly suspecting the truth, 
returned to the hall to find what should 
remain of her tarts and to see for herself 
what an excellent reason Rudo had for 
laughter. 


CHAPTER V 


THE CASTLE HALL 

T WO Knaves of Hearts had captured 
the tarts, as Rudo knew very well, 
because he had seen them. 

The romping, roguish rascals had dressed 
themselves in suits of armor which had 
stood for centuries in the splendid hall, 
all for the purpose of frightening Brunda- 
of-the-kitchen when she should go by on 
her regular journey with the tray of sweet- 
meats. 

It had been something of a task to loosen 
the rusted fastenings of those ancient 
hauberks. But a boy can be depended on 
to accomplish a purpose whatever it may 
be, if he once sets out to do so, even as 
Clovis in the wild wood was conquering his 


44 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


different task. And these two princes were 
like other boys, even though they happened 
to be sons of King Karl the Quarrelsome, 
the bluff ruler of the beautiful kingdom of 
Swabia in the Black Forest. 

So, after many trials, which were ac- 
companied by a great amount of laughter, 
and with a very little help from Rudo, who 
was taller and stronger, by a few years, 
than they, and who could be trusted to 
keep a quiet tongue, they succeeded in 
clothing their bounding bodies in the time- 
blackened mail and in capturing the tarts in 
most unknightly fashion from the frightened 
serving-maid. 

But scarcely had they finished the goodies 
they had seized when down the winding 
stairs came Berthada. 

She called their names as she came down 
the oaken flight from the tapestried cham- 
ber, crying: ‘'Brothers, where are you?” 

And tap, tap sounded her little, pointed, 



They stood now and watched her come in sight 
at the turn of the stair. Page 45. 






THE CASTLE HALL 


45 


silken shoes over the polished steps as she 
descended. 

Back against the wall, hidden in their old 
war armor, they stood now and watched her 
come in sight at the turn of the stair. 

She was dressed in a short-waisted gown 
of white brocade with a jewelled girdle; 
far back on her girlish head was a tall, 
cone-shaped cap, from which depended a 
veil like a spangled cobweb. Beneath her 
petticoat her feet twinkled in haste. She 
was, — though who could know it? — the 
very figure that had appeared in the forest 
lad’s dream! 

But now the princess was hesitating on 
the shining stair, below the window of 
painted glass that was set like a jewel in 
the massive masonry, and calling again to 
her brothers, lonesomely. 

They saw the light, like rainbows broken 
into bits, shimmer around her from the 
many colored panes and touch her hair. 


46 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


But they dared not answer. For while 
they had not hesitated to frighten Brunda, 
neither of them liked the idea of sending 
the rose color from their sister’s cheeks nor 
of seeing her violet eyes widen in startled 
wonder. 

They did not know exactly what to do. 
But, hastily conferring in whispers as she 
drew near, they finally decided to shout 
to her not to be alarmed, and thereupon 
hallooed merrily. 

“Halloo,” she answered delightedly, look- 
ing around. “Where are you?” 

Then they told her, laughing boisterously 
to reassure her. For fear and laughter 
never travel in the same company. And, 
stalking out, they bowed to her highness 
with such grace and ceremony as they 
could muster, considering the fact that the 
bend in the iron knees had not been made 
to accommodate such short legs. But they 
had a jolly time with it all, and the little 


THE CASTLE HALL 


47 


girl joined the dance that must have been 
as amusing to look upon as it was noisy to 
hear. For Queen Hildegarde laughed aloud 
when she came down the stairs to see what 
the clamor was about. 

Now the queen was the kind of a mother 
who knows the hearts of children. Even 
the thoughts that have never been put into 
words were as clear to her as day. Her 
habit of looking deep into the minds of 
her little ones had caused the king to call 
her “Queen Tender Eyes.” And that is 
the name that she is known by to this day. 

So Queen Tender Eyes did not say : 
“What mischief is this ?” and frown. She 
just laughed. And her laugh was like the 
sudden chiming of silver bells. Then she 
swept a gracious courtesy and called : 

“How now, most ancient heroes ! Me- 
thinks you have right merry hearts within 
your rusted frames. From what crusades, 
I prithee, have you come?” 


48 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


The boys stalked stiffly toward her and 
doffed their dinted helms, while Berthada, 
who was called “ Roseblossom ” on account 
of her radiant looks, danced gaily forward 
across the sun-lighted space before the 
stairs. But the queen, bending to see more 
closely the armor in which her sons were 
dressed, called suddenly: 

“Oho ! Come, my princelings, come, my 
girl, and let us sit here on this carven 
chest of swords, and I will tell you of 
the knights who wore these rusted hau- 
berks and carried these crumbling glaives. 
But first replace the armor where you 
found it against the wall, and lay by 
the swords. The time will come too soon 
when you must think of war.” 

She sighed at this and caught her red lip 
as though in troubled thought. And, notic- 
ing the shadow on the well-loved face, the 
young girl touched her mother’s hand and 
whispered softly: 


THE CASTLE HALL 


49 


“The king, my father, will surely soon 
return. ’Tis now two months, and more, 
that he has been away, and each day I 
watch the yellow road that leads from 
Dacia, expecting to see the sunlight on his 
thousand shields as he rides homeward. 
Be of good cheer !” 

She gazed sweetly upward at her mother 
as she spoke. And the queen kissed her, 
comforted. 

It had taken some time for the boys to 
free themselves from the mail, for Rudo, 
who had so deftly assisted them in getting 
into it, was not on hand to help them out. 
And then came the somewhat delicate 
business of fitting the ancient pieces into 
place, in order to restore them to the 
niches that had held them for two hundred 
years. But at last all was neatly done. 
Then Queen Hildegarde, from her seat on 
the carved black chest that held the swords 
and battle-axes of long vanished warriors. 


5<> 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


suddenly pointed to where a ray of light, 
piercing the stained glass window, was 
shining full upon a curiously shaped bugle 
on the wall. 

“Look,” she cried, “the sun gilds the 
magic horn of Roland, the Paladin !” 

“Who, then, was he, my mother? ” asked 
the princess. But the boys smiled at each 
other. They knew. 

“Do you tell your sister, Ludwig,” smiled 
the queen. “For though you knew it 
not, your heart, but now, was beating 
under Roland’s coat of mail.” 

Ludwig clapped his hands. “Not that 
he wore at Roncevaux, my mother? Oh, 
say you so ? ” 

He was breathless with the eager joy of 
it, and, as the queen nodded, he was away 
again to examine the helmet and corselet 
with still keener interest and care. It was 
something indeed to have been housed, 
even for a moment, in that great captain’s 


THE CASTLE HALL 


5i 


steel. His young blood glowed as he felt 
of the chain hauberk with its fine, flexible 
meshes, and he called Fritz to come and 
see the wondrous cunning of each fitted 
part. But both boys remarked that the 
sword which hung in its blackened scabbard 
seemed not in keeping with the rest. For 
while the armor bore evidence of long 
service, and much hard fighting through 
many a telling dent on helm and breast- 
plate, the sword, which Fritz drew forth, 
was but a slender blade of Damascus steel, 
with a hilt of ivory in which a diamond 
glowed. This hilt had been covered by a 
simple leathern shield, but now it flashed 
dazzlingly in the light from the window, 
and Roseblossom cried out in wonder : 

“It is more beautiful than any diamond 
in your seven-starred crown. Why leave it 
hidden in this dingy blade, my mother ?” 

The queen was silent for a little while. 
Then she spoke gently : 


52 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


“This single stone is far more precious 
than a mine of gems, for it adorns a knight’s 
unblemished sword. And yet there is, 
within the blade itself, a thing more wonder- 
ful than any jewel in the world. Look 
closely. There is writing on the steel.” 

The three bent eagerly to see the faint 
red script that ran like a Chinese letter 
along the whole length of the weapon. 

“There is indeed a motto,” cried Rose- 
blossom. “But I can not make it clear. 
What are the words ?” 

She turned to her mother confidently. 
But the lady shook her head. 

“There are,” she said, “within the minds 
of men some certain words that have no 
wings of utterance. Of such are these. 
They are too sacred to be touched by speech 
and are revealed to reverent eyes by symbols. 
Some day my boys may take the great 
degrees, with their exalted meanings. But 
you and I, my princess — ” she smiled 


THE CASTLE HALL 


53 


and shook her head playfully — “Ah, we 
may not know, save as our men convince us 
by pure deeds, what secret teaching is the 
soul of this free masonry !” 

“Who wrote the puzzling riddle that we 
may not read ? ” cried Berthada, pouting, 
as she traced the letters on the dim blade 
with her rosy finger. 

“’Tis said,” replied the queen, “that 
your great ancestor, King Charlemagne, 
inscribed the magic message on the steel 
while yet ’twas red with Roland’s blood ! 
But be that as it may, there is a tale that 
when another knight as pure and true as 
was Lord Roland shall unsheathe the sword, 
it will flash out with flame.” 

“My mother !” cried the princess, laugh- 
ing. “Believe you such a miracle could 
be?” 

“The king believes it !” replied the lady. 
And Berthada clapped her hands, exclaim- 


ing: 


54 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


“Oh, ’twould be splendid, now, to have a 
tournament and call the knights from every 
kingdom near and bid them make the test.” 

She stopped and made a trumpet of her 
little hand and shouted through it, and 
the light fell upon her slender, upright 
figure as she called : 

“Oho, Oho, gentlemen of Swabia ! Oho, 
riding knights and fighting lords ! Oho, 
Oho, Oho-o !” 

Her young voice rang vibrantly through 
the black-raftered hall, and the young 
princes turned from their absorbing exami- 
nation of the paladin’s mail, and, listening, 
laughed. But Roseblossom, trying to imi- 
tate the golden notes of the king’s bugle, 
continued : 

Oho, for the judgment of Roland ! 

The white sword awaits you ! 

, Who dares stretch his hand ? 

The queen interrupted the young trum- 
peter with a peal of gay laughter. 


THE CASTLE HALL 


55 


“So has your father planned,” she said. 
“’Tis odd, indeed, that such a thought 
should reach your maiden brain, unless 
it is in his, this very time, and comes to 
you upon a wave of father-love. Such 
things have been.” 

She hesitated a moment and then went 
on: “King Karl has said that Roland’s 
sword shall be the test, when some young 
king shall ride this way, to — ” but again 
she paused, as the girl turned her violet 
eyes inquiringly upon her face, and added 
hastily : “But of that another time !” 

“I prithee, tell me,” coaxed the princess, 
nestling against her arm. “There is a 
word unfinished on your lips that I would 
hear.” 

“’Twill keep a little while, my sweet 
one, do not fear,” said Hildegarde, biting 
her lips in some vexation that she had 
spoken as freely to the girl. “Be not in 
haste.” 


56 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


“I shall not sleep or play or sing a merry 
song until I hear,” she coaxed. “Tell me, I 
pray. For now I know it must concern me! 
Tell me, dear queen, my mother, pray !” 

But the queen shook her head. 

“All in good time you shall be told,” she 
said. “Not now, not now !” 

And the princess had to be content, for 
with all her gentleness, the queen was 
firm and not to be cajoled against her 
judgment. 

The boys put the blade back into its 
sheath reverently. But the girl tapped the 
floor with iher silver-slippered foot and 
pouted as she dwelt upon the matter, and 
called Ludwig to come and tell her, as 
he had promised, the story of the knight. 

But even as she called, Sir Dugel, in 
scholar’s cloak, came into the room; for 
it was the fashion of the man to change his 
garb to suit his humor. 

Ludwig hailed him in immense relief. 


THE CASTLE HALL 


57 


“Hey dey, Sir Dugel, I like not story-telling 
as a task, so come, I pray, and sing the song 
you made for us concerning Charlemagne.” 

The minstrel came forward smilingly, 
and the queen cried : 

“Take my jewels into the rose garden 
while you spin your valorous tale, good 
Dugel. Run, little people ! I will to my 
tapestry, and with my peaceful needle 
paint my king’s red wars.” 

She mounted the winding stairs, with her 
garments of blue and silver trailing around 
her, and her face shone upon her children 
like a star. 

Berthada looked after her with wistful 
eyes. 

“Will you not tell me all that you began 
to say — to-night?” she whispered. But 
the lady smiled and shook her head, and the 
little princess turned reluctantly and went 
with her brothers and Dugel through the 
open casement into the garden. 


CHAPTER VI 


THE WHITE SWORD 

A T the turn of the stairs, beside 
the embrasured window of many- 
colored glass that now swung open 
to admit the soft airs of June, Queen 
Hildegarde paused a moment, smiling to 
hear Dugel singing the ballad he had 
made as he walked with her children in the 
garden. 

The minstrel’s voice was mellow and 
deep, and he sang gaily, like a soldier: 

A king was Charlemagne, of might, 

As good as ever wore a crown. 

And mighty Roland was the knight 
Who found the horn of great renown. 

“Oh,” exclaimed the princess, interrupt- 
ing the ballad, “we saw the horn but now 


THE WHITE SWORD 


59 


in our hallway. For what was it renowned, 
dear singer ?” 

Ludwig took it upon himself to answer. 

“It could be heard over a distance of 
twenty miles,” he said, somewhat shortly. 
“It was called ‘Olivant’ in honor of Lord 
Roland’s cousin, Oliver. But do you 
have patience. You shall hear all from 
Dugel.” 

With a bow to the little lady, the min- 
strel continued : 

This horn the Paladin had won 
From Jutmundus, a giant foe 
That ever in his tower spun 
His plots to bring the king to woe. 

The three young people, with Dugel beside 
them, halted on the bank of a narrow 
stream that ran noisily through the place, 
and sat on a stone bench under a pear-tree. 
Fritz, seeing the bewildered look on his 
sister’s face, said : 

“Lord Roland had determined to go 


6o 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


boldly to the dark tower and make an end 
to the plots against Charlemagne and his 
army. But he found the forest full of the 
rusted armor of dead knights that had gone 
before him for the same purpose, and if 
his heart had once failed, he would have 
laid beside them. But he said ever to 
himself that he was not afraid and he found 
himself at the very drawbridge of the castle. 
Sir Dugel has told us that once a man lets 
Fear ride behind him he is already lost. 
So Roland galloped alone. And when he 
had reached the water gates and found 
them lifted, he sprang from his saddle, 
threw off his corselet, and with but a short 
blade in its sheath he swam the moat and — 
Do you tell us, good Dugel !” 

The teacher laughed, well pleased to 
see how well his princely pupil had re- 
membered. And he took up the tale 
where the boy left it, singing in spirited 
fashion : 


THE WHITE SWORD 


61 


Lord Roland passed the oaken stair 
And gained th’ tower upon his quest. 

When round him fell a silken snare, 

And lo, a sword was at his breast. 

Then laughed he out, all unafraid, 

And, as he brushed the danger by, 

A flash sprang upward from the blade 
As lightning flames across the sky. 

And by its light he saw the face 
Of black Jutmundus, snarled and grim, 

As swirling free, by Heaven’s grace, 

The sword leaped, of itself, to him ! 

At that the thunders shook the land, 

The walls rocked down, the tower fell. 

But Roland stood unharmed, his hand 
Locked in the hilt of Durandel. 

“Was Durandel the name of the wonder- 
ful sword ? And did it indeed fly to the 
knight’s hand of its own accord ? ” the 
princess asked eagerly. And as Dugel 
nodded, not wishing to break the measure 
of his unfinished song by “yes” or “no,” 
Ludwig added : 


62 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


“It was then that he found the magic 
horn, as well. And we might use both horn 
and sword if we so willed. Is it not so ?” 

“In truth,” agreed Fritz. But Dugel 
hesitated. 

“It is said,” he replied at last, slowly, 
“that the white sword of Roland bears a 
magic quality. It is, in fact, so runs the 
ancient tale, a test of men. And when 
the right prince shall come to Swabia upon 
a certain mission, the blade will flash in 
flame as soon as he has drawn it from its 
silver dwelling.” 

He paused and looked at the girl, smiling 
gently as though there might be more that 
he would gladly say. 

Berthada saw the look and fell to wonder- 
ing what it could be that so concerned her. 
First had her mother told her of the sword 
and its peculiar power. And here was 
Dugel hinting at the very thing, and add- 
ing gravely : 


THE WHITE SWORD 


63 


“He will be a true and worthy prince, 
where’er he comes from. But his reward 
will be in keeping with his deeds.” 

Then he smiled again. But Roseblossom 
saw her brothers gazing at each other 
manfully. And she forgot her curiosity 
as she exclaimed, leaping from her place 
and clasping her hands : 

“My brothers will be brave and true 
enough to strike that ancient steel into 
white flame.” And she gave them a trust- 
ful smile. 

Fritz sat down again beside the brook 
and crossed his legs as for a long stay, as 
Ludwig observed thoughtfully : 

“ ’Tis a strange tale. Listen how it 
came about. 

“Lord Roland won much glory for the 
arms of Charlemagne, and he stood the 
brunt of many a fearful fight unscathed. 
But as he returned after his conquests, 
in a mountain pass that held no sign 


64 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


of danger, he and his hosts were slain.” 

“All ?” inquired the princess. 

“All, save Lord Oliver, his cousin, for 
whom the magic horn was named,” Fritz 
added. “The king himself was waiting 
in his camp less than a score of miles 
away, ready for the news of victory, when 
suddenly he heard upon the air the bugle 
note that told the tale of death.” 

“Let Dugel tell us,” cried the girl, and 
the minstrel rose to his feet and recited : 

Lord Roland blew a winding blast 
As ’neath his charger’s feet he lay, 

And down the magic horn he cast 
As its last echoes died away. 

Then groped he weakly for his sword, 

To lay it, bare, upon his breast. 

And as it flamed, the Paynim lord 
Who sought to grasp it let it rest. 

So lay he on that fatal hill, 

And on his heart a cross of light. 

(That sword shall flame no more until 
There rises such another knight.) 


THE WHITE SWORD 


6$ 


Then Oliver, his foeman-friend, 

Rode to the king with hasting spur. 

‘ O king/ he cried, ‘ would I might send 
A Roland for this Oliver. * 

Roseblossom clasped her hands over her 
satin bodice to still her heart’s tumultuous 
beating. For Dugel had spoken the lines 
with deep emotion. 

“I know not all they mean,” she whis- 
pered. “But the words quiver in my 
bosom.” 

Fritz nodded sympathetically and an- 
swered : 

“Roland and his cousin Oliver once 
fought together for five whole days. This 
was when they were boys in their first 
campaigning. And they finally had to 
give up the contest since neither could gain 
the least advantage over the other. After 
that, the army always called a blow for a 
blow a Roland for an Oliver.” 

“I see.” Roseblossom nodded. Then 


66 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


added, somewhat wistfully: “But that is 
not all that Dugel told us in his song. 
There was something finer still, and splen- 
did !” 

Dugel felt the rare joy of the poet under- 
stood. 

“You are right, most gracious princess,” 
he exclaimed. “ When Oliver cries : ‘ Would 
I might send a Roland for this Oliver ! 9 he 
means that he would be glad to lie among 
the slain on that hill if, by so doing, he 
could send Roland safely back to his king.” 

Berthada rose and walked slowly ahead 
of the boys and the minstrel, back to the 
castle. And as she went she murmured to 
herself the thought that is in the heart of 
every lovely maid : 

“If I were a man I would be worthy to 
carry the white sword of Roland.” 


CHAPTER VII 


THREE JOLLY GNOMES 

W ITH his hand in the mane of his 
brown horse, Clovis went deep 
and deeper into the heart of the 
ancient wood. 

There were no beaten paths. The great 
trees shouldered each other and seemed to 
hold up the heavens. All was twilight, 
still air, spicy fragrance, leaf mold, and 
blossoming flowers. 

Birds trilled softly in the dense foliage, 
as though loath to shatter the hush of the 
forest. And wild, furtive things hid in 
the shadows as the boy and his horse 
passed by. 

The forester’s son was seeking a certain 
kind of root which Gid required for a 


68 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


cordial he made each year for the king’s 
household. And failing to find it in 
sufficient quantities for the purpose, where 
it had grown in seasons past, the search 
for the herb had led Clovis far. Now 
night had overtaken him, and he knew 
that he must make his couch under the 
sheltering trees. 

This was no great trial to one who had 
spent his life in the wild wood. So he busily 
set about gathering boughs of the springy, 
balsamic pines for his bed, while the horse 
cropped the tender grass or wandered 
away to drink of the rill that had cut 
from the far-off mountains a curving chan- 
nel through the mossy closes of the forest. 

Clovis, making a cup of his hand, was 
glad to drink of those same cool waters 
after he had finished his oat cake, — a 
cake that he had baked in the ashes of the 
hearth that morning. More than that, 
he followed the stream for a distance, 


THREE JOLLY GNOMES 


69 


until it widened into a pool ; then, casting 
aside his garments, he plunged in and 
swam and played until the waters began 
to reflect the stars that blossomed in the 
heavens and swung their silver lamps for 
him as well as for the little princes in their 
tower at Swabia. 

When he ran back to his bed of boughs, 
the moon had begun to glow softly through 
the tree tops. So he flung himself down and 
slept with Storm, the Best-Horse-in-the- 
World, beside him. And around him rose 
the night fragrances of the forest. 

Clovis awakened at a peculiar sound, 
peculiar in that place and at that hour, the 
clang of metal upon metal. 

“ Strange,” he muttered, and raised him- 
self on his elbow to look around. 

“Clang! clang!” rang the sound again, 
sharp and clear. 

The boy sprang to his feet and discovered, 
with surprise, that his horse was no longer 


7o 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


with him. But as he was about to lift 
his pipes to his lips, well knowing that their 
first note would be answered by Storm’s 
hurrying, unshod hoofs, he saw something 
that made him pause with an exclamation 
of wonder. For a glow of red light shone 
from what appeared to be an opening in 
a eave, a hundred lance lengths away, and 
with the clanging of iron came a certain 
tangy, unforgettable smell. 

“A forge,” cried Clovis, and started 
for the place. But he was unprepared for 
the sight that greeted his eyes when he 
stood in the opening. A forge it was, in 
all truth, but the three smiths were those 
little earth-spirits known as gnomes, all 
twisted and dwarfed, with hair like gray 
moss and faces of lichen green. They were 
dressed in queer leathern jackets and wide 
pantaloons the color of cinnamon bark, 
and their round caps and buckled shoes were 
of the same material. He saw that their 


THREE JOLLY GNOMES 


7i 


faces were unmistakably jolly, each wide 
mouth being twisted into a crooked smile, 
and the emerald colored eyes fairly danc- 
ing with suppressed laughter. But what 
amazed him most of all was to see that 
two of the three were working busily over 
the gracefully lifted forefoot of Storm 
himself. And that the Best-Horse-in-the- 
World was submitting to their handling 
with both interest and composure. 

Clovis made a click in his throat. 

“Your horse needs shoes,” called the 
queer, crinkled creature, who was hammer- 
ing a curve of glowing metal on his anvil. 
He glanced up and nodded sidewise toward 
Clovis through a shower of rosy sparks. 

“Swift shoes,” added the second of the 
three, with a jerk of his head beckoning the 
boy to draw nearer. 

“Light shoes,” declared the other. And 
that was all that any one of the trio would 
say, although Clovis asked many questions 


72 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


and looked more, until, with his delicate 
feet all shod, Storm went over and rubbed 
his face against the lad’s arm affectionately. 

Then the three gnomes began hammering 
a strange tune and at every blow the 
sparks flared upward ; and in time with 
the song of the anvil they sang : 

We are the gnomes, the jolly, jolly gnomes 
That work at the forge all day. 

Clang, clang, clangity-clang ! 

And we work all night by our furnace bright 
For ’tis jollier to work than pla-a-ay, 

’Tis jollier to work than play. 

This merry boy, this merry, merry boy, 

Has work that he knows not of — 

Clang, clang, clangity-clang ! 

He’s a way to go that he does not know 
And a labor of lo-o-ove, 

And a labor of love, love, love ! 

His horse so fleet, so very, very fleet 
Shall run like the wildest wind — 

Clang, clang, clangity-clang ! 

Blow the forge ; whoof , whoof ! Here’s a magic 
hoof 


THREE JOLLY GNOMES 


73 


That will leave ev’ry foe behi-i-ind, 

That will leave ev’ry foe behind ! 

Clovis listened to the queer song, laughing 
and clapping his hands gaily, while the 
singers leaped and wheeled and twisted to 
its measures, their odd, humped figures 
showing black against the rosy light of 
the furnace, like so many grotesque giant- 
crickets. 

But through all the strangeness of the 
situation, he felt sure that, for some reason 
of their own, the gnomes had decided to 
befriend him. The thought crossed his 
mind that they were probably aware of his 
vow and meant to help him when the hour 
came for him to fulfill it. 

Anyway he understood that the strange 
blacksmiths had taken the trouble to fit his 
horse with magic shoes that would make him 
the swiftest as well as the best horse in the 
world. And with that knowledge he had 
to be content for the time being. For the 


74 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


blacksmiths began to yawn prodigiously 
and to hint that it was time for them to 
think about going to bed. So thanking 
them as best he could for what they had 
done for him, he turned away. 

But he had lost all desire for sleep. A 
thousand different thoughts ran through 
his awakened mind until, by a strong effort 
of his will, he banished all but the simple 
one that had to do with his mission in 
the forest. He had expected to wait until 
daylight before he searched for the herb 
that his father wanted for the cordial. 
But the moon gave an excellent light for 
his task, and he soon found the glossy 
leaves and little scarlet berries growing 
very near where he made his bed of 
boughs. The plants were small, and he 
found that he could best carry them by 
tying little clusters together and stringing 
them into wreaths, which he flung around 
his neck. Thus garlanded, he sprang to 


THREE JOLLY GNOMES 


75 


Storm’s back and was presently making 
his way back over the long trail toward 
his father’s lodge in the more open part of 
the forest. 

It was dawn when he reached the place. 
For he had ridden slowly over an uncertain 
way, having some things, including his 
recent experiences with the blacksmiths, to 
think of rather seriously. 

But when he finally neared the door, he 
began to feel, with a woodsman’s sensitive- 
ness, a curious trembling of the air. He 
spoke to his horse, and Storm paused at 
the word, holding one foot uplifted. After 
a brief wait with every sense alert, Clovis 
leaped down and, stooping, laid his ear to 
the ground to listen. 

He was not mistaken. There was a 
vibration, a pulse of sound, beating regu- 
larly. He sprang to his feet hurriedly. 
And, as he heard, a look of high resolve 
came into his boyish face. 


76 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


“Horses!” he breathed. “An army! 
But not the king’s!” 

And in a moment more he was again 
on Storm’s back, galloping with all speed 
toward the highway. 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE WATCHERS IN THE TOWER 

O VER the road, built five hundred 
years before by Charlemagne, gal- 
loped Black Slazek and his raiders. 
And the lovely Swabian valley wakened 
to see strange, savage-looking troops armed 
with short pikes and bristling halberds dash 
through its green stretches and on toward 
the castle on the hill. 

The invaders were bold. The clank and 
jingle of their heavy armor, their loud 
laughter and insolent cries proved they 
were fully aware that the king was away 
with his army and the land was without 
defense. But now was their hour of revenge 
for many a battle they had lost to Karl 
in days gone by, and it was their mission 


78 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


to burn the villages, storm the castle, and 
take the queen and her children away to 
the south as captives. 

All this had been carefully planned in 
Black Slazek’s own tent beyond the river. 
Every detail of the raid had been worked 
out; every point of the attack provided for 
by as crafty a leader as ever commanded 
such an expedition. Time and circum- 
stance conspired to help him in his plot 
against the lovely, helpless lady. There 
was but one obstacle that he had not 
reckoned on. 

And that obstacle was — Clovis, the 
piper ! 

Slazek and his men came from the half 
savage hordes of the south and eastward. 
Their blood was mixed, a blend of Mon- 
golian and of Slav, with a strain of the Turk 
and a drop of Moor for coloring. 

But the horses were kings of a royal line : 
arched necks, lean flanks, small heads, limbs 


THE WATCHERS IN THE TOWER 79 


slender, hoofs to set in a lady’s palm, 
nostrils aflare with the color of flame, eyes 
deep as the midnight heavens. This morn- 
ing the sun glittered on their trappings of 
brass and scarlet. The hills shook with 
their hard galloping. 

From her tapestried room in the castle 
tower the queen saw them coming. Their 
course lay along the highway to where 
the road forked. One tine of this fork 
led to the east, the road taken by the 
king himself a month gone by : the other 
tine ran straight to the citadel. 

It had been the custom, in more ancient 
days, to keep soldiers armed with pikes at 
this crossway to turn back strangers who 
approached the castle. And this was the 
origin of the familiar term turnpike, as 
applied to a public road. But Karl, with 
his confidence in his reputation as a con- 
queror, had long left the place without 
guard. And there now seemed to be no 


8o 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


stay to the onward dash of Slazek’s 
troopers. 

Hildegarde was brave at heart, a right 
gallant lady. But as she watched the 
glittering cavalcade in its swift approach, 
and guessed something of its revengeful 
mission, she thought of her children. Not 
only of Ludwig and Fritz and Roseblossom, 
but of the half dozen more, younger still, 
who played in the bright nursery and on 
the stairs; who chased the butterflies in 
the gardens and frolicked with the birds 
upon the lawn. The queen thought of 
them, and her heart trembled. 

But she bade the women who stood about 
her in terror and tears to cease their crying 
and to bring the children to her in the 
tower chamber, where the huge, many- 
colored tapestries stood, unfinished, with 
their adjustable frames against the wall. 

Then as the girls in their stiff satin 
frocks and quaint head-dresses and the 


THE WATCHERS IN THE TOWER 81 


boys in slashed doublets and pointed hose 
came clattering up the winding stair, her 
quick mother-mind began scheming as to 
how she might hide them when the Huns 
should sack the castle: an event to be 
reckoned upon when the approaching horde 
should gain her defenseless walls. And 
as the beat of the oncoming hoofs sounded 
nearer and nearer, her wit ran back and 
forth like a shuttle weaving plans. 

But it was Fritz who finally, although 
unconsciously, gave her a thought that 
made her cry out with joy. 

He chanced to stand in front of a stretch 
of unfinished tapestry, of great size, which, 
with much skill, she had been weaving 
for many years. The scene depicted by 
her needlecraft was a forest, wherein chil- 
dren and fairies played beneath blossoming 
trees. Countless threads of many hues 
and dazzling strands of gold and silver 
hung everywhere from the Surface of this 


82 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


canvas, ready for the part that each 
one was to play in working out the 
pattern. And as Fritz stood before the 
work, he seemed to fit into the em- 
broidery and form a part of the needle- 
wrought picture. 

The queen forced her trembling lips to 
smile, and gently loosed the little hands 
that were clinging to her dress. She had 
her plan well in mind, but she must train 
her little actors for their part in it. There 
must be no mistake. Their very lives might 
depend upon their being unafraid ! 

The invaders were still some distance 
away. But she must have the children 
ready to do exactly as she directed — at 
the word ! Practice was necessary ; for 
they must know their parts. There must 
be no confusion at the last. 

“Come, little ones,” she cried, forcing 
much gaiety into her tones, that they might 
catch no hint of fear. “Come, and we 


THE WATCHERS IN THE TOWER 83 


shall practice for a merry tableau. Into 
my picture you shall go ! ” 

“Oh, not so, not so,” she laughed, as they 
began running toward it with much shout- 
ing. “Hark! listen! We shall make a 
great pretense of being very still lest we 
alarm the fairies who are even now beneath 
these swaying tinsels ! But stand you this 
way, and you that,” she said, “when I 
shall give the signal.” She stopped, listen- 
ing, and added: “Not now, not now! 
But if a band of merry, noisy men — who 
play that they are very angry — enter 
here, then, when we hear them at the 
door, we shall smile, but make no sound of 
laughter lest it should spoil our pretty 
play. And I shall whisper: ‘To your 
places, princes ! ’ — and you will go, without 
so much as stopping for a kiss.” 

She put her hand to her throat; her 
breath came quickly. Every sense lis- 
tened. 


84 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


“What then, mother?” cried Cedric, 
“when the merry men have come ?” 

“Oh, then,” she said, considering, “oh, 
then, you must not stir, or wince or look at 
them — or say a word — even if they 
make a loud and roguish jest of searching 
all the place for you, and even if — with 
prankish fun — they carry me away !” 

She kissed them and caught them to her 
heart, laughing to hide her tears. She was 
on her knees now, and they surrounded her. 

“Promise me,” she whispered tremu- 
lously, “that you will do my bidding and 
be still ! Promise — and keep faith with 
me, like princes !” 

They promised and she sprang to her 
feet, saying: “Then will I go with you 
some joyous day on a far quest — ” 

“Where fairies dwell ? ” inquired Bertram, 
and she nodded. 

“Into the fields beyond the brook?” 
asked Sigmund eagerly; and all the rest 


THE WATCHERS IN THE TOWER 85 


clamored their chief desires, to which she 
gave assent. 

The sound in her throat was a sob. 
But the children thought it was laughter, 
save only Berthada and Ludwig and Fritz, 
who stood gravely and quietly by, under- 
standing, but making no sign; and, with 
her, listening to the ever louder beat of 
hoofs upon the highway. 

Then she gently placed the little ones, 
now ready for what seemed a new and 
merry frolic, into the great frame and 
dropped the swinging, veiling threads in 
front of them. 

The effect was as she had hoped. They 
appeared like figures woven in the tapestry. 

Well pleased with her rehearsal, she 
released them; and they leaped out of the 
swaying, silken fringes and waited with 
eager, innocent glee for the signal for the 
tableau ! 


CHAPTER IX 

BLACK SLAZEK’s RAIDERS 

W HEN Hildegarde had completed 
her plans and was satisfied that 
the children would stand quietly 
behind the veiling threads of the tapestry, 
even though the invaders were within the 
tower, she discovered, to her alarm, that 
the older boys and Berthada were no longer 
with her in the chamber. But even as she 
wondered, the princess returned alone, 
carrying with her the horn of Roland. 

“Do not forbid, my mother,” she said in 
a low voice, noting the queen’s look of 
amazed disapproval. “Who knows but 
that the king may even now be within hear- 
ing of this old bugle’s voice. Let me but 


BLACK SLAZEK’S RAIDERS 87 


send a note upon the air. ’Twill do no 
harm, and it may find him.” 

“It takes some art to give a trumpet 
sound, my daughter,” said the queen. 
“But call young Rudo; perhaps he knows 
the way to set its echoes flying; for your 
thought had wit behind it.” And she 
looked at the girl tenderly. 

But Berthada replied: “My brothers 
have gone with Rudo to hold the draw- 
bridge, and Sir Dugel, with the others of 
the household, guard the stairs. But you 
have told me that we womenfolk are ever 
given strength for every need. Now has 
the need come for a bugle note ! And I 
will blow it ! For since I must — I can !” 

She spoke confidently and, taking a full, 
deep breath, she raised the tarnished in- 
strument to her lips and blew a brave blast 
from the window that looked toward Dacia. 

The terrified countryfolk heard it and 
wondered. The hurrying horde on the 


88 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


highway heard it and laughed, for they did 
not know how far its music rode upon the 
winds. But the queen was comforted by 
the calm and fearless bearing of her little 
girl. Once and yet again the thrilling call 
went forth. Then again it blared upon the 
air, before Berthada laid it down on the 
stone ledge, determining that it should 
speak again, if need be. 

But now the queen drew her daughter to 
her side, and while the little ones were 
playing quietly before the tapestries in 
the far corner of the raftered room, Hilde- 
garde laid her cheek against the soft cheek 
of Berthada, and both declared the secret 
words that banish fear. Then together 
they leaned over the rough-hewn casement 
of the embattled tower and waited. 

They saw the land stretch away by 
vale and hill : fair fields, pleasant streams, 
and deep forests. They saw the tiny vil- 
lages of the toy makers, like toys themselves. 


BLACK SLAZEK’S RAIDERS 89 


with their red roofs and airy balconies; 
and they saw the well-stocked pastures of 
the little farms and the great orchards of 
the feudal lords — all women-tended now 
that Karl was gone, and all in the flower 
and leaf — with the yellow road, like an 
arrow of light, darting between. 

And on this road, now seen, now out of 
view but ever reappearing, came Slazek, 
the Black, and his thunderous hoofs, gal- 
loping toward the castle. 

From their height they could see all; 
and to their ears were borne the fierce, wild 
cries, the jeering songs, and harsh-throated 
laughter. 

But not yet was the heel of the invader 
upon the stair ! Not yet were the little 
children to be hidden from the ruthless 
Huns under the wools and tinsels of the 
queen’s tapestry ! Not yet was the Swabian 
valley to be laid waste by the fire and sword 
of conquest. 


go 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


For some one else was waiting at the fork 
of the road. A boy mounted on the bare 
back of a steed, lithe-limbed and powerful. 

Now and then the lad looked at the 
castle, fair upon its hill. And now and then, 
with brows drawn into a frown and eyes 
like blue flame, he looked at the advancing 
troopers. 

He had made his high resolve to defend 
his queen. And the hour was now ! 

But what was his swordless hand against 
Black Slazek’s thousand horse that were 
almost upon him, where he stood with the 
slim, swift limbs of the desert-born beneath 
him ? It seemed that there was little he 
might do. 

But, as the foremost line came full in 
sight, Clovis raised the little pipes that 
swung on their chain of braided grasses 
and began to play a soft and enchanting 
melody. 

His horse heard it, and turning, answered 


BLACK SLAZEK’S RAIDERS 


91 


with a whinnying sound, his lustrous eyes 
upon his rider. 

The horses coming upon him like an 
avalanche heard it, and along their lines 
passed a quivering thrill, as, with ears 
pointed forward and great eyes strained, 
the thousand slowed their pace as one and 
listened, trembling. 

Then, as the music grew sweeter and 
more clear, Clovis blent with it the wild, 
free cry of the spirit of the steed. And 
the horses answered him, answered him 
neigh upon neigh, rearing from their ranks, 
plunging under their riders, unheeding whip 
or spur, unmindful of the command that 
would sweep them into the road that led to 
the castle. 

They had reached the turnpike. With 
threats and cries and blows, with spear 
thrusts and mad hallooings, the Huns, now 
standing in their stirrups, tried to turn them 
to the point they had expected to attack. 


92 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


But without avail. The troops were as 
helpless as though they rode the whirlwind. 
With his reeds at his lips, piping their elfin 
melody, Clovis rode forth from the fork of 
the road, playing as he went, and with 
all the speed of Storm’s magic hoofs, took 
the east tine that led toward Dacia. And 
after him, following him in a mad stampede, 
thundered the horses of the Huns. And 
their armored riders were upon them ! 

Vainly the black-browed host tried rein 
and spur. With clatter and clank of chains 
and hauberks, with jangle and clang of 
swords against armor, with the neighing 
cries of rebellious steeds, and screaming 
rage of bafHed men, the troops swept on. 
And high above all the tumult rose the 
pipes of Clovis, as he played the song of 
the steed, — wild as the winds of the 
desert ! 


CHAPTER X 


THE WINDING STAIRWAY 

i( jt | "lHE horses have wheeled about!’ 5 

cried Queen Hildegarde from her 
window, her tone mingling joy and 
wonder. “I scarce believe my eyes, but 
the horses have turned about and have 
taken the eastern road ! Look, little girl, 
and say. Is not some swifter horseman 
leading them ?” 

“Tis a boy,” returned the girl, leaning 
far out of the casement and straining her 
eyes to the strange sight that was now 
revealed to them. “ A boy, my mother. 
And his hair shines in the sun like a golden 
banner. But harken — ” 

She lifted her hand, listening. And all 
other sounds save the far trample of hoofs 


94 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


died away. Then, faintly clear, they heard 
the music of a flute in strains of alluring 
sweetness. 

Berthada fled to her mother’s arms with 
a glad cry: “They have gone, they have 
gone !” 

And they stood for a moment thus, 
smiling and murmuring through tears. For 
they knew that the danger that but a 
moment since had threatened them was 
over. 

“Shall we hide in the picture now, 
mother?” called Sigmund, eagerly. But 
he did not know why she caught him to her 
heart as she answered : 

“Not now, little one, not now ! But 
harken. The birds call you to the garden. 
Run with them all, Clotilde; I soon will 
follow.” 

She rose and merrily drove the laughing, 
romping band before her to the door, where 
Clotilde, somewhat recovered from her 


THE WINDING STAIRWAY 


95 


fright, was waiting to receive them. But 
Brunda, with a tray of tarts in her little red 
hand, came running up the stair at that 
moment, so they had to wait and eat 
the goodies where they were. And Brunda, 
who was just about to speak of the terror 
in the kitchen, looked up to see the queen 
lift a silencing finger. So she held her 
peace, and the children finished their tarts 
and trooped away. But they had scarcely 
gone down the secret stair that led to the 
orchard, when, with clamor and shout, 
Ludwig and Fritz rushed in, swords in 
hand, followed by Rudo, who was armed 
with a bow and arrows, and the excited 
servants. 

“The horses of the Huns are running 
away ! Down the road to the eastward,” 
cried Fritz. “There is no stopping or 
turning them !” 

“’Tis a miracle, ’tis a miracle,” cried old 
Colot, crossing himself and muttering a 


96 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


prayer. And the lady bowed reverently, 
as Ludwig added : 

“They were almost upon us — within 
arrow flight of our walls. But just as they 
were about to turn into the castle way — ■ 
listen, my mother — a boy, we know not 
who he is or whence he came, rode out of 
the green wood and stood, like one engraved 
in stone, at the fork of the road. We could 
see him from where we waited to attack. 
(For we should have held the bridge, my 
mother !) And he was playing on strange 
sounding reeds that seemed to charm the 
horses. And in a space the Huns, against 
their will, were following him.” 

“We saw him,” cried Roseblossom, clasp- 
ing her hands. “From our casement we 
beheld it all ! Oh, it was splendid, splendid 
and terrible ! She hesitated, and then 
added : “But now, but now ?” 

“We are safe,” replied the queen, with 
emotion. “ God has delivered us from 


THE WINDING STAIRWAY 


97 


the enemy. I know not how the matter 
came about. I only know ’tis done.” 

“They will not come back,” Fritz de- 
clared positively. “For mark you the in- 
tent and cunning of the boy, who must 
have known the road he took will lead 
toward Dacia and our king’s returning 
army. I doubt not that the hosts will 
meet upon the highway.” 

“’Tis even so,” answered the queen, 
well used to thought of wars and so un- 
troubled. “But,” and her white brows 
were drawn together in perplexity, “ I 
would that I might learn the name of 
him who leads them. Indeed, ’twill be 
my purpose from this hour to find and 
thank him.” 

“And so must I, my mother,” whispered 
Berthada. And forthwith began to dream 
of the unknown hero. 

“I wonder who he is,” she whispered to 
herself, as her violet eyes gazed wistfully 


9 8 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


down the now quiet and serene crossway, 
but she got no further with her maiden 
wondering. For Sir Dugel entered at that 
moment, and his cheeks were flushed and 
his eyes sparkling. 

“A brave knight has arisen among us, 
O queen,” he said, with much feeling. 

“I prithee make a ballad of his deed,” 
cried Ludwig, and while the poet nodded 
that such was his intent, the lady asked the 
name and rank of the mysterious stranger. 
Of this, however, Dugel had no word to 
say. So he parried the question with a 
courtier’s delicacy by replying : 

“I doubt not that the king will find a 
way to bring him to receive your gracious 
smile. But now he seems unknown.” 

And with that they had to be content, 
because between the minstrel and the 
forester there was a bond of silence. But 
Roseblossom, who read the former’s face, 
was certain that he knew far more than 


THE WINDING STAIRWAY 


99 


he revealed, and swiftly made her plans to 
cajole him into telling her. 

And it must be confessed that Dugel, 
seeing her roguish smile, suspected her 
scheme and hurried from the room, only to 
hear the patter-patter of her silken shoes 
pursuing him, as he ran down the oaken 
stairs. 

At the first sweeping circular turn he 
missed the sound of her little feet, and 
thinking she had returned to the queen, 
glanced up, only to see her face smiling 
with elfin merriment upon him over the 
banisters. So he was away again, and she 
after him; taunting him over the winding 
rail, laughing at him from among the 
velvet shadows, shining upon him from the 
niches where windows jewelled the massive, 
round, tower walls, calling to him softly, 
but persistently the while, and ever follow- 
ing. 

“Tell me you must, dear singer, so be- 


100 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


ware ! Tell me you shall, wise-foolish 
man o’ dreams ! All that you know of him, 
the yellow-haired, be sure I’ll know !” 

Through the halls he ran. Their gloomy 
arches thrilled with her young laughter. 
The darkness parted where she passed, as 
shadows fly before a sunbeam. Through 
the vast and splendid chambers of the 
king the chase led on, with booted heel and 
satin shoon alike unwearied. Then, where 
a casement swung upon a gardened place. 
Sir Dugel stopped and waited for his con- 
queror. 

She came like one winged, her light scarf 
fluttering behind her. And her look was 
eager as she asked : 

“And now, will you tell me?” 

He smiled and shook his head. 

She nodded and sighed. 

“Now I will tell you!” he said. And 
they went out through the casement to- 
gether. 


CHAPTER XI 


THE CAPTURE 

N OW it happened that King Karl, 
returning to his kingdom after some 
fighting with the Dacians, by which 
neither had profited, was within ten miles 
of Swabia’s five-towered castle when he 
heard the long, mellow call of a distant 
bugle. Once and twice the sound sought 
entrance to his ear. But he was absorbed 
with other matters and gave little heed, 
beyond wondering what the strange signal- 
ling might be, until, when it was again 
repeated, his eldest son, Prince Charles, 
came spurring to his side, crying : 

“Harken, my father, ’tis the horn of 
Roland, sounded from our Swabian towers 
even as I, myself, taught my brothers. 


102 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


against some time of danger ! ’Tis a warn- 
ing that they need us in our halls. Let us 
make haste !” 

His young face was pale with anxiety. 
But he had no need to urge the king, for 
with an exclamation of dismay, Karl had 
turned in his saddle and called a command 
that was repeated down the lines. In a 
few moments the troops were galloping 
at full speed, the heart of every man in the 
great company striding ahead of his horse 
in his anxiety to defend his home. For 
the word had gone through the ranks that 
there was something wrong in Swabia ; 
and every soldier was the husband or the 
brother or the son of some fair lady. So 
they went forward at full speed, and the 
king with his son as a stirrup mate, galloped 
ahead, their pulses keeping time with the 
pounding feet of their horses. 

Prince Charles was the eldest of the royal 
children ; and, at the age of eighteen, he was 


THE CAPTURE 


103 


ever at his father’s side in the chase or the 
battle. Now, as they plunged on through 
the morning toward home, it was he who 
first saw a cloud of dust rise against the 
clear blue of the sky and roll toward them. 

Then came the sound of hoofs, galloping 
hoofs, shaking the ground, and the Huns 
on their runaway steeds came into sight. 
A hurtling, furious mass of horses and men, 
all a tangle of yellow and scarlet, in the wake 
of a single horseman, who rode in advance 
with the speed of a singing arrow, and 
fluted a strange, melodic tune. 

Amazed at the sight of the onrushing 
horde, the king’s troops, riding in orderly, 
compact columns, twelve and twelve, had 
but time to draw rein. But Karl was a 
general born, a soldier by profession and 
by blood. His quick glance caught the 
fluttering banner of the Hun still fastened 
to a lance head on a saddle-bow, and he 
grimly smiled. 


104 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


Then, at his sharp command, his column 
split down its entire length and formed in 
two divisions, each taking one side of the 
road. And as the Huns, on their un- 
governed horses, swept down the middle, 
the two divisions of the king closed in a 
loop, surrounding them! 

For a space there was an indistinguish- 
able mass of horses and men in a fighting 
tangle of steel on steel. The soldiers’ first 
task was to stop the terrific onrush of the 
enemy. But it was not until the piping 
suddenly ceased that the horses, exhausted 
and trembling, ran no more. So it was, 
after a sullen, hand-to-hand conflict with 
the unwearied army of the king, that the 
invaders, disorganized, helpless, and un- 
prepared, as they were, were made prisoners. 

But Clovis, having led the troops into 
this cul-de-sac, wheeled about and made his 
escape without being noticed, and returned 
to Swabia. 


THE CAPTURE 


105 


How the matter had come about was of 
the liveliest interest to Prince Charles, and 
he rode in and out questioning, with boyish 
curiosity, the Huns who were being put in 
chains, after the barbaric fashion of the 
times, preparatory to being sent, under a 
strong guard, to a fortress on the Danube. 
A grim, black-walled keep was this fortress 
that had housed many a band of rebels 
since the time of Charlemagne and was 
destined to hold many more under the 
later war-lords of Germany. 

But, had they so willed, the captured 
invaders could scarce have told the reason 
for their plight, the truth of their mad, 
unwilling following of the piper. It was 
all a bewildered dream to them. 

There had been a flash of yellow hair in 
the sun, the sound of magic music and a 
winged brown horse that others followed ! 

They only knew that where they had 
expected to take, they had been taken! 


io6 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


The how and why of it remained a 
mystery. 

Blithely Prince Charles rode through 
the temporary camp that had been pitched 
for the use of the prisoners until such time 
as the arrangements for their conveyance 
to the stronghold on the Danube should be 
completed ; and he stopped in front of 
where Black Slazek lounged, with rude 
grace, against a mass of brass and scarlet 
trappings, plumed helms and emblazoned 
shields. He suspected that the chief might 
have more to say. But the Hun main- 
tained a haughty silence under all his 
questionings, shrugging an insolent shoul- 
der that rattled his chains. 

But Charles noted that the bold, roving 
eyes of Slazek rested with softened glance 
upon the horse that stood with low hanging 
head and heaving sides at his feet. And 
when, moved by a kindly impulse, the 
young prince dismounted and went him- 


THE CAPTURE 


107 


self to free the bent neck from its burdening 
armor, Slazek sat up, and from under his 
black brows darted a look that was oddly 
friendly, as he said : 

“ There’s a new power in Swabia, my lord 
prince. That tell your warrior king for 
me ! And when your foot is raised to 
mount the throne, see that another has not 
gained the place before you. For he that 
conquers horses conquers men !” 

Charles turned toward him a bewildered 
face. But Slazek would add nothing to 
his speech. Even as Charles still sought 
his meaning, the bugle sounded and the 
troops were off and away. The prince, 
hurriedly mounting, rode after them, his 
dark locks floating under his silver helm 
and his face grave and thoughtful. Well 
on his way he turned in his saddle and 
waved farewell to Slazek. And the Hun 
lifted his manacled hands in answer. 

Half-way to the Swabian vale the king 


io8 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


was met by a gay cavalcade composed of 
the queen and Berthada, escorted by Sir 
Dugel and the ladies of the court on horse- 
back. The greetings between the royal 
couple and the soldier prince and his sister 
were full of thanksgiving and joy, as the 
two parts of the extraordinary adventure 
were fitted together. But of his conversa- 
tion with Slazek, Prince Charles said no 
word, keeping silence, as men will, concern- 
ing the most important thing that he could 
say. 

The village and country folk filled the 
highway as Karl approached the castle 
town, and the rejoicing people, singing and 
playing on such instruments as were within 
their untutored skill, marched back to 
Swabia with the troops. 

Sir Dugel had brought the news that 
Karl was returning to the queen, who in 
her delight forgot to ask how he had ob- 
tained the information. And he did not 


THE CAPTURE 


109 


tell how he had met the forest boy, with his 
garland of wintergreen and scarlet berries 
still around him, as he rode back on his 
brown horse, through a woodland path to 
his own door. 

And he gave no sign, when he returned 
from the visit he had had with Clovis, of 
the knowledge that he gained, and even 
the knowing eyes of the princess could not 
again catch him unaware, when the king 
and the people inquired about the mys- 
terious piper. 

Karl was not much given to speculation. 
And he had not, in truth, noticed the boy 
that rode at the head of the runaway 
host; although some few of the soldiers, 
riding well forward in the ranks, declared 
that a youth without mail seemed in the 
lead. Their only concern was in the fact 
that they had met the enemy and it was 
theirs — by right of conquest, and the land 
was safe from one menace. That was 


no 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


enough for them. But it was different 
with the queen and her daughter. And 
finally, because of Hildegarde’s wish and 
perhaps somewhat because of Berthada’s 
coaxing — for Karl could not withstand the 
winsome, merry ways of the girl — the 
king caused placards to be posted along 
the public roads, commanding the gallant 
stranger to present himself to receive his 
monarch’s thanks and gracious favor. 


CHAPTER XII 


THE KING’S PROCLAMATION 

C LOVIS stood at the side of the road 
staring darkly at a painted parch- 
ment which was nailed against a 
tree. But the son of the forester could not 
read; and so, as far as he was concerned, 
the king might have saved his scribe the 
trouble of the fine lettering. But the boy 
was filled with an immense curiosity, seeing 
that number of letters harnessed together, 
to make words which, in turn, were to be 
spoken and sent upon speech to the under- 
standing. 

Limited as his privileges had been to 
hear people talk or to take part in con- 
versation, he yet knew that a word, how- 
ever short it may be, is a mighty thing. 


1 12 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


Each one of those on the parchment before 
him seemed frail enough. But he clenched 
his hands and raged in spirit because all 
his strength could not wrest away its 
secret. 

His eyes burned to pierce the mystery. 
But there it stood, its meaning inscrutable, 
hidden in a few woven letters that he did 
not know. Unrecognizable as a warrior 
with his visor down ! 

In this case it was most provoking. For 
from his covert Clovis had seen the king’s 
guards nail the sheepskin, neatly lettered 
all in black and crimson, upon the smooth 
bole of a birchwood tree. 

That it was from the castle there could 
be no doubt. He felt it might concern 
his singing queen, and with this thought 
he darted back into the forest and travelled 
far until he met his three friends, the 
blacksmith gnomes. He had some anxiety 
lest he should have to go many miles to 



“Can you not read?” he asked resentfully 

Page 113. 








THE KING’S PROCLAMATION 113 


the place of the forge to find them. But 
he came across them on the way and, 
without stopping to explain, urged them 
to accompany him back to where the 
poster remained unread upon the birch 
tree. 

He had been confident that they could 
unveil its meaning. But now, although 
they stood beside him, staring at the 
lettered thing, they were as dumb as he. 

“Can you not read?” he asked resent- 
fully. 

“The stars,” nodded one. 

“The face of the streams,” added an- 
other. 

“The heart of a child,” said the third. 

So Clovis sat down and gazed and gazed 
at the sheepskin fiercely, as though he 
thought to make the words give up their 
sense to him. 

And the three gnomes sat beside, gazing 
sadly at him, until Elmo, who took his 


H4 THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 

name from the tree he sprang from, and 
always seemed to lead the other two, 
hopped nimbly to his feet and began to 
sing: 

Hi, fi deedle, dum-dell ! 

Here is our piper, lum-loodle, lum-lan ! 

He reads many things but never can tell 
The secrets that hide in the writing of man. 

There is a letter that looks like a tent : 

Here is a snake, and a lance broke in two. 

One letter is straight and another is bent — 

But what they all mean I don’t know, sir, do you ? 

Elmo addressed his pathetic question to 
Oako and Cedo, the two other elves, who 
immediately took up the strain, repeating 
anxiously : 

“But what they all mean, we don’t 
know, sir, do you?” 

And then the three stood, shaking their 
heads and scowling so helplessly that the 
boy laughed. His laugh was echoed by a 
loud and merry guffaw from the distance. 


THE KING’S PROCLAMATION 115 


and instantly the gnomes, somewhat 
saddened by their failure to be of service 
to the boy in this case, were scudding back 
to the green wood, leaving no trace of their 
presence to greet Dugel, who soon came in 
sight. 

The minstrel was in his clerkly gown of 
deep blue, worked in threads of silver, and 
his chestnut colored curls fell from under 
his small blue velvet cap and framed his 
face pleasingly. As has been said, the man 
who held so many offices at the Swabian 
court was an Irishman of degree, and 
young, with as many moods as a chameleon 
has shades, and talents to match them. 
He had been thoughtful when he had set 
out upon his walk, for Berthada had met 
him in the garden and had lifted a rosy 
finger of command to him to return not 
until he fetched the piper ! 

He had given no promise to this, but he 
had dwelt upon the matter rather seriously. 


n6 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


Since the confidence that he had given 
her, the princess spent much time devis- 
ing new ways of teasing secrets from him. 

Sometimes he made this mischief serve 
his own account by seeming to withhold 
some lesson that, in his heart, he wished 
the royal girl might master. But he sighed 
to find that she was less inclined to listen 
to a book than to a tale that sprang from 
his own lips and named a forest-piper. 

He had some misgivings as to the part 
he played and promised himself that he 
must tell the queen — when once the boy 
had crossed the threshold of the hall — all 
that he himself knew of the fairy romance 
that was then weaving in the mind of her 
young daughter. 

All this was in his mind as he walked 
along. But as he heard the song of the 
gnomes and the merry laugh of the boy, 
his brow cleared, and the corners of his 
mouth turned upward. 


THE KING’S PROCLAMATION 117 


“Heigho,” he called to Clovis; “and so 
you are reading the king’s message ? ” 

He pointed to the proclamation on the 
tree, and Clovis answered: “I cannot 
read it. Do you give me the words.” 

But Dugel was inclined to tease him. 
“How now,” he cried, in affected sur- 
prise ; “where are your witching pipes that 
they have not charmed these letters into 
flocks of words to fly into your brain ? ” 
But the boy was dumb, knowing how 
little his music would avail him in this 
case. So, seeing his sad and bewildered 
looks, Dugel began to read the message : 
an easy thing to do, since it had been 
prepared by his own hand. 

“ Thus says the king : ” he began. And 
Clovis listened while he read that the 
young horseman who had so gallantly led 
the enemy into his majesty’s hands was 
commanded to appear at the castle. 

Thus far Dugel had proceeded, when a 


n8 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


slight rustling sound caused him to look 
up. Clovis had gone. The man laughed, 
well knowing that the king might as well 
try to lure a wild stag to drink from his 
golden goblet as to command the forest 
boy to his presence. 

But he sat down to watch what would 
happen next. For he felt sure that Clovis 
would return to learn by sight the letters 
that were painted on the parchment, to 
engrave them on the tablets of his eager 
mind. Dugel was right. A little later 
the boy crept back, and unaware of Dugel’s 
nearness — the tutor had concealed himself 
beneath the drooping branch of a flowering 
vine — he gazed as one who would never 
cease gazing at the wonderful skin. Then 
Dugel’s hand fell on his shoulder. 

Startled, he glanced around and would 
have fled once more, if the man had not 
held him fast, while he met his defiant 
young eyes kindly. 


THE KING’S PROCLAMATION 119 


“To-night,” he began without preamble 
or delay, “I shall come to your father’s 
hut with books. Go now and cut your 
pine torches; for I shall need light that I 
may give light. I am going to teach you 
to read.” 

A crimson wave of joy swept the boy’s 
face. His brave eyes filled with a sudden 
mist. Then he raised himself to his full 
stature and met the smile of Dugel proudly. 

“I will make the torches,” he said 
simply, and was gone. 

“And he will receive the light,” said 
Dugel, nodding confidently. “I shall 
make of him a scholar.” 

Then he went slowly back to the castle, 
alone, as he had gone forth. And the 
little princess saw him enter, as she waited 
in the jewelled window of the hall; and 
seeing that he was alone, she tossed her 
pretty head and walked away, stormily, 
her silver slippers clicking on the stair. 


120 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


So it came about that the son of Gid the 
forester had the king’s favorite for a tutor, 
and gradually he became learned in all 
the arts of peace and war. But Dugel 
said no word of all this, as time passed on. 
Not even to Berthada did he give the 
slightest sign. And, as the posters by the 
roadside were either ignored or unobserved 
by the person supposed to be most in- 
terested in them, the incident of the cap- 
ture of Black Slazek passed out of the minds 
of the king and his lady. 

Only the princess remembered. 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE PATTERAN 

T IME went swiftly while, by rush- 
light or flame of hearth fire, Clovis 
found his way into the books that 
Dugel brought to him. His eager desire 
to learn made his progress swift; and the 
young teacher had the keen joy of seeing 
his pupil’s preception and attention in- 
crease every day. Sometimes, after the 
fashion of the Athenian philosophers, he 
walked and talked with the boy in his 
familiar forest, or discoursed upon men 
and events as he sat with him beside the 
stream. They read Virgil under the elms 
and Homer under the cypress trees; but 
the propositions of that other Greek, 
Euclid, were worked out in the winter. 


122 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


when storms raged around the hut between 
the bare branched sycamores : worked out 
alone — since Dugel could not flounder 
through the waist-high drifts of snow at 
that season — and so truly mastered. For 
as “he travels fastest who travels alone,” 
he learns best who learns by his own efforts. 

By the time another spring came, Sir 
Dugel was well pleased with the progress 
in the hut, but somewhat puzzled and dis- 
mayed by another kind of progress in the 
palace. j 

The princess Berthada had become so 
skillful in her roguish determination to 
trick him into speech concerning Clovis 
that more than once she had caught him 
off guard, and learned what he would fain 
have hidden from her. Among these 
things was the story of the vow made by 
the piping forester to defend the singing 
queen. It had been a long time before he 
had won the confidence from the boy, and 


THE PATTERAN 


123 


Dugel was angry with himself that the 
little maid had so promptly witched the 
secret from him. And now she had cajoled 
him into still greater mischief. He pon- 
dered upon it gloomily, then tossed it from 
his conscience with a smile, vowing to tell 
her mother. 

Then one day Clovis met a girl in the 
wild-wood. She was dressed in the blue 
homespun stuff the peasants wear, and 
she was crying. So, although he would 
have fled at the sight of a smile, he stopped 
at the sound of a sob and asked its reason. 

“I have lost my way,” she said, and her 
eyes, through their tears, looked like dew- 
wet pansies. “I cannot find the path,” 
she added, and her red lips trembled. 

• “Then will I lead you,” he said, “to 
your farm gate,” for he thought she was a 
farmer’s daughter. And he turned as 
though to set about the task without 
delay. 


124 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


She looked down at her feet to hide the 
laugh that had leaped to her eyes, and 
thanked him timidly. But now he, too, 
was looking at her feet. Never had he 
seen anything so marvellously white, save 
where the thorns had reddened them. At 
sight of the briar scratches he frowned. 

"Is there no one to make sandals for 
you,” he demanded, "to keep your feet 
from hurt?” 

"There is no one,” she said, and 
sighed. 

"Then do you wait here, upon this very 
bank,” he spoke with authority, "until I 
go and fetch a fragment of doe-skin that 
I chance to have ; and I, myself, will 
make a covering for your feet. Stir not 
so much as half a lance length from this 
place or you may tread on nettles.” 

He darted away, surprised at himself 
for so much speech. But once before in 
all his life had he beheld a maiden in the 


THE PATTERAN 


125 


wood. And she was then a shining, silver- 
slippered creature of a dream and yet — 
he stopped quite still a moment at the 
thought — between this girl and that there 
was a strange resemblance ! But he dis- 
missed the memory of the dream and 
hurried on his errand, while the girl sat 
down beneath a great, sheltering tree, her 
eyes full of deep laughter. 

“So must I wait here, even as he has 
commanded me,” she said to herself, nod- 
ding her head. “‘Do you wait here upon 
this very bank,’” she mocked delicately, 
looking in the direction he had taken, and 
imitating his imperious way, “‘Stir not so 
much as half a lance length from this 
place!’ Oh, me, how pleasant it is to 
obey ! And, indeed, I am aweary. For 
the way was longer than I thought ’twould 
be, and sown with thorns that pierced my 
stranger feet. But now how soft and fra- 
grant is the air ! I never knew there were 


126 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


so many birds, nor dreamed I what sweet, 
star-eyed flower things were in the world ! 
Heigho, I am aweary !” 

She nestled among the young grasses 
with a soft sigh that changed into low 
laughter, as she murmured: “He thinks 
I am a farmer’s daughter, and I am sure 
that he should be a prince.” 

She stopped, blushing sweetly at her 
unspoken thought. And the birds trilled 
softly overhead and called, one to another. 
Then, before she had the least intent of 
yielding to her drowsiness, her eyelids fell, 
and she slept. 

When she awoke she was alone. But 
close beside her, on a fresh and dewy leaf, 
glowed a heap of ruby colored berries. 
She ate them hungrily. And when her 
mouth was as red as the fruit, she looked 
around and saw a pair of white doe-skin 
sandals close at hand. 

The little shoes were fashioned with rude 


THE PATTERAN 


127 


skill and sewn with grasses, and she drew 
them on with a cry of delight. Never 
before had her feet been so comfortably 
clad. She thought of the pointed silver 
shoon and the silken dress hidden in the 
room at the top of the secret stair at the 
castle. Then she felt of the blue home- 
spun and looked at the doe-skin sandals 
and laughed. J 

But now the air had begun to take on 
the waiting hush of twilight. She must 
away, lest one in his motley who waited 
for her at the forest edge should repent 
that he had thus indulged, howe’er unwill- 
ingly, her whim to see, at last, the wild- 
wood boy. 

She sprang to her feet and hallooed and 
hallooed gaily for Clovis. But although 
he had promised to be her guide, he did not 
come. But just as she was about to cry 
again, she discovered that there was a rude 
but distinct drawing of a spear in the 


128 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


earth at her feet, pointing outward, and 
beyond that spear was another, and still 
others as far as the very edge of the 
forest. 

More than this : The path of spears was 
sprinkled with the petals of some bril- 
liantly scarlet flowers, that they might the 
more readily catch the eye and appear 
more easy to follow. 

The girl saw that the patteran was de- 
signed to guide her safely out to the main 
travelled road. But she was little pleased 
with the employment of that well-known 
and ancient trail blazing of the German 
forest; for she had a mind to have a longer 
talk with the one she had come so far to 
see, and who had so bashfully avoided her. 
So she called again, making a trumpet of 
her pink-palmed hands. 

But there was no reply. So, with her 
twinkling feet covered with the sandals 
that Clovis had given her, she followed the 


THE PATTERAN 


129 


path of spears to the road and thence to 
the point where Dugel stood by the cross- 
roads waiting for her. 

But deep in the heart of the wood the 
piper was fluting a new melody. Its 
echoes reached her as she sped away. 

“Well?” Dugel asked, coming to meet 
her as she approached, and doffing his 
pointed cap merrily. “What now, most 
willful lady ? ” 

“He thought me but a farmer’s daugh- 
ter,” she replied, “and made for me some 
shoes !” She laughed, and added naively: 
“I like them.” 

The jester, for such was his present 
mood and costume, smiled, but only said, 
with a glance at the sky : 

“We must make haste. It grows late. 
For this adventure I should reap small 
thanks, I fear, from my dear queen. My 
earliest task will be to tell her all.” 

“Not yet, not yet, dear Dugel,” cried 


130 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


the maid. “ ’Tis surely for my lips to 
make confession. Leave it to me !” 

He hesitated. But she plead with smiles 
and tears, and he said : 

“Well, so ’twill be. But now, although 
he knows you not, nor even dreams the 
singing queen he honors with his soul has 
such a woman-child, the sight he’s had 
to-day of you must be the full reward for 
what he did. Let us forget him !” 

He looked sidewise at the girl, who of a 
sudden raised her head, glanced at him 
haughtily, red lips acurl, and then, find- 
ing no words with which to fitly answer 
him, sped through a wicket gate and up 
by a winding, gardened path to the 
castle. 

Dugel looked after her. And after he 
had frowned he, of a sudden, smiled, and 
smiling, sighed. 

After that day, from his tangled shelter of 
green boughs, Clovis watched for the girl’s 


THE PATTERAN 


131 

return. Week and month went by, but 
still he watched in vain. Nevertheless in 
the time he took from the hard tasks of 
knowledge-getting that Dugel heaped more 
and more heavily upon him, he kept the 
path of spears renewed. And with his 
woodman’s ax he cut down the thorns and 
briars that had hedged the patteran, and 
made it clear of underbrush and harsh 
grass. 

But after he had surveyed the work, he 
was still unsatisfied, remembering those 
milk-white feet. So he fetched turf of 
velvet moss and laid it smoothly, edging 
the green with all the tender blossoming 
things that grew within the wood. 

But when at last she came again — for 
come she did — she was riding on a white 
horse that stepped haughtily and did not 
need his flower-decked way. And seeing 
the white horse and the proud way in which 
he stepped through the trees, with his 


132 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


still prouder rider, the boy’s fingers 
trembled on his magic reeds. A moment’s 
wild impulse swayed his mind to sound 
the pipes that made him master of the 
steed. But ere the instrument was at his 
lips it fell again upon its chain of grasses, 
to his breast. And there grew, beneath 
it, a strange, new trouble. For she, al- 
though she wore her dress of homespun 
blue, seemed not the same as when she 
wept beneath the tree. He dared not lift 
his eyes to her. 

So he kept from sight as she rode by, 
and might have thought her coming but a 
dream, had he not seen an object shining 
on the way but lately traversed by her 
horse’s feet. And when he picked it up 
it was a little shoe. Not one of those 
that he had made for her, but a dainty, 
silvered thing, embroidered with threads of 
gold. 

He turned it this and that way toward 


THE PATTERAN 


133 


the light. He held it in his hand a long 
time, wondering. Then, as one might 
shield a homeless dove, he put it in the 
folds of the leopard skin he wore across his 
breast. 


CHAPTER XIV 


berthada’s ride 

W HEN the girl in blue homespun 
rode out of the wood, she 
turned her horse toward a nar- 
row stream that ran with noisy speed to 
the bosom of the Danube. 

There was mischief in the heart of her. 
For she, who had never but that once 
before, when she had met young Clovis in 
the forest, been outside her father’s walls, 
was now tingling with the joy of being 
free. 

“What is beyond the river ?” she asked 
herself. “What is beyond the hills?” 

If only she might go riding into the 
sunset-land and know ! 

She walked her horse down the green 


BERTHADA’S RIDE 


135 


bank and stopped. Beneath her the waters 
whispered and laughed. Rego, the steed, 
pawed an impatient foot and stretched 
toward them. 

He wanted a drink from the sparkling 
wave ; she wanted a pretext to ride 
further. It would be an experience to 
ford the stream. But for a moment she 
hesitated, glancing back at the castle 
lifted on its beetling cliff, from which the 
great house of Hohenstaufen was destined 
to send forth future kings. 

She could see its five tall towers and its 
bastioned walls. But she was only a 
young girl ; and the pomp and splendor of 
the place seemed less attractive to her than 
the winding, yellow road that beckoned on 
beyond the river. 

“I will go forward but a little way,” 
she said, temporizing. “Poor Rego’s feet 
are eager for the waters !” 

So, casting the blame for the adventure 


136 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


on the horse, she loosed the restraining 
rein and in a moment he was in the stream. 
At the first dash of the waves against his 
knees, he paused and looked back at his 
rider, questioningly. But she whispered : 

“On, Rego, good horse, on !” And he 
went forward, staggering, as the current 
swept him. 

Midway across he stopped to take a 
draught, thirstily. She laughed to feel his 
shining sides distend. It was while she 
waited for him to drink his fill, with noisy 
leisure, that she observed the sky was 
overcast, and that an ever thickening mass 
of dark clouds hung low over the Rhine 
country to the westward. 

She glanced at them with fine disdain. 

“Who fears rain?” she questioned. 
“Never I ! And then the storm that 
threatens may blow over. Many a time 
I’ve heard Sir Dugel say: ‘The rain has 
fallen here or fallen there, but touched not 


BERTHADA’S RIDE 


137 


Swabia !’ Howe’er it haps, I shall go for- 
ward. How sweet it is to go a-gipsying ! 
Perchance I may not have another day of 
such wild freedom !” 

The idea pleased her. And as Rego 
crossed the stream and went up the bank, 
she made a gay pretense that she had ar- 
rived in a strange country and was ad- 
venturing through an unfamiliar forest. 

“ On, Rego ! Let us go beyond the purple 
hills to the edge of the world,” she called 
softly, leaning over her horse’s glossy neck, 
confidingly. “Make haste, make haste !” 

So he fell into a long, swift stride which 
carried them far, until the green twilight 
of the wood deepened and the air grew chill. 
Then, of a sudden, came a sound that made 
the good steed turn around and look at her 
again, questioningly. 

It was thunder. The first harsh menace 
of the coming storm. 

Berthada clapped her hands. 


138 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


“Never before in all my years of life,” 
she cried, “have I been in a storm ! But 
now I shall catch the silver-fingered rain 
that is forever tapping on my window ! ” 

She lifted her face to the first warm drops 
that fell. 

“Oh,” she laughed, “I’m a rose, I am a 
rose, and the rain is my mother !” 

But Rego, shaking his head, ran on, ill 
pleased. 

“My hair is wet,” she cried exultantly, 
loosing the ribbon and tossing the curling 
dark locks free. “Swiftly, swiftly, Rego ! 
I would fly like a bird with dripping wings ! ” 

Her blue gown clung about her, and for 
a while she laughed with glee. Then the 
wild winds began to swirl and buffet 
them; lightnings zigzagged through the 
heavens ; thunderbolts were hurled among 
the trees ; branches cracked, and the green 
monarchs bowed. 

The horse trembled and stood still as 


BERTHADA’S RIDE 


139 


the forces of the hurricane played awful 
games with balls of living flame around and 
over him, and the princess was now cold 
and quivering with dread. She was no 
longer a rose, no longer a swallow, but just a 
frightened little girl on a frightened horse 
in a strange land. 

But Berthada knew some secret words 
that were a talisman in every time of danger. 
She had said them when she had leaned 
from the window of the tower chamber 
and watched the approach of Black Slazek’s 
galloping hosts, and she said them now. 

And the words were : “ Nothing can hurt 
the real me ; I am not afraid.” 

And even as she said these words, her lips 
ceased trembling, and her heart was com- 
forted. She patted her horse with a steady 
little hand, and soon he stopped shivering 
and looked around with wistful dependence 
upon her will. So she coaxed him, with 
soft words and firmly held bridle, into a 


140 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


lane that opened between the trees, and 
commanded: “Home.” 

But even as the good fellow wheeled about 
to do her bidding, there was a sudden 
deafening crash, and a hurtling bolt of 
living fire struck at the heart of an oak ten 
lanc§ lengths distant. With one wild leap 
Rego was off and away toward the castle, 
not knowing that a sweeping branch had 
lifted his young rider from her saddle as 
he ran and left her high in the green, 
glistening boughs of a great tree. 

It was a strange plight in which the prin- 
cess found herself. Walled in with leaves 
and sheltered somewhat from the tem- 
pest which raged around her in the forest, 
she had time, as she sat in the bend of 
branches, to fully realize the result of her 
mischievous prank in running away. This 
was what had come of it. She was alone, 
and in a tree top. How should she get 
down ? 


BERTHADA’S RIDE 


141 

She peered out between the lacing boughs 
and then sat back with a sigh. It was a 
very long way to the ground. 

After a while a glow began to filter and 
creep into her shelter. She looked out with 
a thrill of joy and turned her face upward. 

The sky was growing blue, freed from 
the storm, and soon the sun was shining. 


CHAPTER XV 


THE PRINCESS AND THE POTTER 

“ "TT MUST get down from here,” Ber- 
thada decided, again looking through 
the wet leaves to the ground. “In 
truth I cannot stay forever in a tree top.” 
But just as she was about to swing out on a 
branch near her hand, and take her chance 
of dropping safely to the turf beneath, 
she heard an extraordinary sound, and 
sat still where she was, to listen. 

It sounded like the burble and gurgle of 
water pouring through narrow-mouthed 
pitchers. She leaned over as far as she 
could, without losing her balance, and was 
immensely pleased to discover that, after 
all, she was not alone, as she had supposed 
herself to be, in the strange forest. 


THE PRINCESS AND THE POTTER 143 


For there was not only a potter's oven 
in the little clearing upon which she could 
look down ; but moving busily about in a 
partly roofed shed of timbers was a jolly 
looking little old man. His hair was white 
and his cheeks were rosy; his mouth was 
puckered with a whispered whistle as he 
worked. 

He was removing cloth covers from rows 
of animal-shaped jugs and jars which he 
had evidently been shielding from the 
rain, and pouring out the water that had 
fallen into them, despite his care. But that 
was not the surprising thing. As he moved 
each piece she was amused and astonished 
to hear it make the sound peculiar to its 
kind. 

Each one of the receptacles was modelled 
in the form of a bird or beast, and the 
pitcher that was shaped like a duck said: 
“Quack, Quack,” very distinctly as it 
was emptied; while, when its turn came, 


144 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


the corpulent brown pig squealed “Umph- 
w-ee.” 

It was certainly amazing. 

Berthada rubbed her eyes to see if she 
were really awake. But the rosy, blue- 
smocked potter kept moving and emptying 
the jugs ; and she heard the china-dog mug 
bark and the snake pitcher hiss quite 
naturally; and when all were in place, the 
comical, cow-shaped crock drowned out 
every other voice with its long and mellow 
“moo.” 

But the potter himself was singing now, 
as he swept the damp boards of the floor 
with his broom of rushes, and she who 
listened smiled. For it was evidently a 
song he had made up about himself, and it 
told her a number of things ; and, besides, 
there was a queer kind of a yodel in the 
second line of every stanza that was delight- 
ful to hear. He sang it merrily. 

Berthada interrupted him with a gay 


THE PRINCESS AND THE POTTER 145 


halloo, and was amused to see his startled 
look when he tried to find out where that 
clear young voice had come from. 

For she was not more surprised at what 
she had seen and heard than was he to 
discover a little girl up in a tree. He was a 
moment or so trying to regain his compo- 
sure. He even puckered his lips into their 
soundless whistle again, to help him think. 
Then he wiped his clay-covered hands on 
his smock, as he called : 

“Heigh ho ! Where and who are you ?” 

“I’m a little maid up a tree,” she 
answered. And he laughed aloud, looking 
up and seeing her smiling face. 

■ “Eh, but you are a pretty bird in your 
nest. Fly down, then, if you want to !” 

He held up his hands to steady her, and 
she swung down. But, although as soon as 
she stood firmly on her feet in the wee shop 
she told him about her adventures, she 
did not tell him that she was his sovereign 


146 THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


princess. For young as she was, she knew 
that while one should speak the truth at all 
times, it is not necessary, sometimes, to 
speak all the truth. 

As they talked, the burble and chinking 
around them became much louder. 

“What is that noise?” she asked, as she 
went over to take the chair he had rubbed 
dry with his smock and then offered to 
her. She knew, but she wanted to be 
sure that she was not really dreaming 
about it. 

“The jugs are joking,” he replied com- 
posedly. “Don’t let them bother you!” 

“They don’t!” she replied. “Not a 
bit. But — but they’re talking.” 

It seemed too absurd. 

“Talking they are, of a truth,” replied 
the potter, twinkling, “but saying nothing 
at all.” He lifted his eyebrows in a knowing 
way and smiled expectantly. But as she 
looked bewildered, he explained: 


THE PRINCESS AND THE POTTER 147 


“I said they were talking but not say- 
ing anything,” he raised one clay-smeared 
finger and tapped the palm of his other hand 
to emphasize his meaning, “and that’s the 
way with many human folk who have but 
empty heads. But never mind. ’Twas 
but a jest. And I’ve been making jests 
the best part of my days with none to 
understand them !” 

His rosy face was overcast, and he 
sighed. 

“Oh, be not sad !” she cried sympatheti- 
cally, thinking that it was a small matter 
to so trouble him. And then she ques- 
tioned. 

“Must you, perforce, make jokes?” 

“’Tis a great comfort,” he admitted. 
“There always is a hope that my wife will 
smile at one, some day or other.” 

Then he said something that surprised 
the princess greatly. 

“My lass,” he admonished earnestly. 


I 4 s THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 

“keep laughter in an ever filling fount. 
And when your husband makes a jest, 
laugh ! Believe me, ’tis good doctrine/’ 

But she laughed at this, merrily. 

“I have no husband,” she said, “I am 
but a little girl — ” 

“Oh, yes, ’tis true.” He nodded. “But 
the wee maid of to-day is the wife of by 
and by. And what I have told you is one 
of the secrets of happiness that can be 
tucked away in a young heart.” 

He was a very dear old man. Good 
thoughts had written tiny, upward-running 
lines from the corners of his mouth over 
his rosy cheeks to his kind eyes, like radia- 
tions of sunlight. The girl’s heart warmed 
into confidence as she looked at him. 

“I am going to be married,” she said 
sweetly. 

He pursed his lips for the soundless 
whistle, but thought better of it and 
smiled. 


THE PRINCESS AND THE POTTER 149 


“Lord bless you ! To-day ?” 

“I know not when,” she said. “Nor 
does the one that I have chosen dream he 
is to wed me. But that is of small moment. 
In good time he will surely know.” 

“God bless me !” cried the potter, feeling 
the need of some help for himself in this 
delicate matter. “Let us hope that the 
lad may be so wise ! Who is he ?” 

“A forest boy,” she said serenely. “And 
is it not a merry joke ? Twice only, in his 
life, has he so much as seen me ! ” 

She laughed at this, long and softly. 

But the potter was troubled in his mind. 

“Be not o’er bold, be not o’er bold,” he 
cautioned. “It is for lads to do the woo- 
ing.” 

But, still laughing, she sprang to her 
feet and cried: “I would see the pottery 
ovens and all their wonders, if you please !” 
And without further speech on the subject 
they went around among the jugs and 


150 THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 

pitchers that gurgled each in its own 
peculiar fashion as she passed. 

“I think you must be clever with your 
wheel to turn such curious things as all 
these singing jugs,” she exclaimed. “Do 
you make still another kind ?” 

He flushed with pleasure at her praise 
and answered: “I am kept busy from 
morning until night making my plates and 
platters for the castle kitchens. Coarse, 
unglossed, earthen ware. But,” he paused 
and looked cautiously around, as though 
fearing that he might be overheard, “there 
is a certain vase that I shall make some- 
time. A vase, mind you, slender and as 
beautiful as a pearl.” 

Berthada was astonished at the way his 
face changed when he said that. It grew so 
eager and wistful that she found her eyes 
smarting with tears of sympathy. 

“Can you not make the vase now?” 
she asked hesitatingly. 


THE PRINCESS AND THE POTTER 151 


“No,” he said, “as I have told you, I 
have to spend all my time making jugs and 
platters. But I dream of what it will be 
like, and sometime the queen herself will 
be wanting it for her table. It will be 
worthy to hold a rose.” 

He sighed again, — a long sigh ; and the 
girl saw that his eyes burned wistfully. 

Then, suddenly, she understood. 

“It must be hard,” she said timidly, 
knowing that one has to be very careful in 
expressing sympathy — for unless it is deli- 
cately done it is better not done at all — 
“in truth it must be hard to be forever 
making platters when one longs to make a 
vase; but — ” and now she hesitated more 
than ever ; for she had a big thought which 
she was scarcely wise enough to put into 
words — “mayhap you might make the 
platters beautiful.” 

She stumbled a little over some rushes on 
the floor, as she said this. But the potter 


152 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


did not even put out his clay-smeared 
hand to help her along. He simply stared 
straight ahead, as though he were gazing 
at something for the first time. Then he 
turned to her with the brightest smile that 
she had ever seen on any one’s face. 

“The thought had never come to me, till 
through your bringing, that I might make 
beautiful whate’er I had in hand,” he said 
heartily, while she peered daintily about 
among the curious chinking and clattering 
earthen things. And it seemed to her, as 
she listened to his talk, that she could dis- 
tinguish through their absurd chorus some- 
thing that sounded like : 

If you can’t do the thing that you like to do, 
Jing ! Jingle ! 

Then, like to do the thing that you’re doing, 
Cling ! Clingle ! 

She lifted her finger for him to listen, and 
was about to tell him that she thought they 
were saying very sensible things, indeed. 


THE PRINCESS AND THE POTTER 153 


But he again looked around, as though in 
fear of being overheard and said hurriedly : 

“ If what I am going to tell you should get 
to the ears of the king, I should doubtless 
have to take my choice between giving up 
my head or my secret.” 

“Oh, no — ” she began, on the point of 
telling him that the king was her father and 
would be his friend. But before the words 
were out, she realized that they would 
surely put a stop to her joyous holiday, so 
she kept silent. 

“You will tell no one ?” he asked. 

And she answered : “I will tell no one.” 

The rosy old face bent near to her own. 

“My name is Gottlieb, and I come of a 
long line of potters. I have the secret of 
a glaze that my great grandfather learned in 
China,” he said, lowering his voice to al- 
most a whisper. “No one knows it but me. 
It was used in ancient times for the sacred 
vases in the temples of Buddha. There is 


154 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


nothing made so beautiful in all the world 
to-day, but now, since I may not wait to 
model my vase, I will try it upon my 
platters ! They are made of excellent clay 
and have stood the test of ovens.” 

He seemed delighted at the notion and 
went on to explain to her at some length 
how the gray paste was enamelled with a 
glaze as iridescent as a polished sea-shell. 
And when he had finished telling her, she 
clapped her hands. 

“So do,” she cried, “so do,” little know- 
ing that the ware he was to begin making 
that day was going to be famous hundreds 
of years after, and that his great-grandson’s 
great-grandson, Bernard Palissy, was to 
save his head throughout the dreadful 
massacre of St. Bartholomew because Queen 
Catherine admired a table service he had 
made and wished another like it ! 

If Berthada could have known anything 
about the future of the wonderful ware. 


THE PRINCESS AND THE POTTER 155 


she might have more fully realized the im- 
portance of her encouragement. But as 
she did not know, she coaxed him to explain 
how he modelled the clay so that it pro- 
duced the vocal sounds, and then, after 
he had taken her around to see the furnaces, 
he suddenly thought that she might be 
hungry. 

“My wife will scold me for my churlish 
manners,” he said, looking quite distressed. 
“Never scold your husband, my lassie. 
That is another bit of advice that I must 
give you ! But come ; I dare say the por- 
ridge is stone cold. Yonder is my cot- 
tage.” 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE TOY-MAKERS’ VILLAGE 

B ERTHADA was enchanted with the 
quaint little village where toys of 
all sorts were made then, even as 
now, for the children of other countries. 

The wee houses with their airy balconies 
and shining windows were perched here and 
there, — one group nestling under a cliff, 
one hanging on a spur of a hill, and another 
group on a tiny island that was made by a 
rollicking, wheel-turning stream that seemed 
absurdly conscious of the important part it 
played in the industries of the community. 
The houses were placed anywhere their 
owners pleased to rear the timbers ; and the 
streets twisted and looped about in fascinat- 


THE TOY-MAKERS’ VILLAGE 157 


ing ways to accommodate themselves to 
the requirements of the builders. 

The place presented a scene of busy life. 
Play and work seemed to be about equally 
divided among the children who, with 
shock heads and in stuff gowns and jerkins, 
weeded and raked in the bright gardens or 
rolled hoops in the crooked, lane-like roads. 

The princess was delighted to find that 
the potter’s house was on the island. And 
they crossed the brook — which she was 
certain she could have leaped over, had she 
chosen, it was so narrow and shallow and 
gay — on a bridge that was high in the 
center, like a half-moon. 

By the time they got to the bridge, there 
were at least a dozen children clamor- 
ing at the heels of the potter or hanging 
upon his smock or upon his arms. And 
they were all talking at once at the same 
time he was talking to them. It seemed 
very confusing, and Berthada laughed in 


158 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


some embarrassment when she saw that 
they did not want him to go with her over 
the bridge. 

“Stay with us!” they shouted stri- 
dently, trying to pull him back. 

And he was laughing and struggling and 
saying: “Oh my, Oh my, what shall I 
do !” while Berthada looked on, amazed. 

“See,” he said at last, “I will give you 
something if you will let me go just for a 
little while. I will give you — the sweet 
smell of the willows ! How do you like 
that, now?” 

They laughed joyously, but hung on to 
his smock. 

“Listen,” he continued. “I will give 
you all the little love-names, and the banks 
of this brook, and its waters for you to 
play in !” 

“Stay with us !” they still cried, and he 
looked grave. 

“But hark,” he coaxed. “I will give 


THE TOY-MAKERS’ VILLAGE 159 


you that cloud that looks like a dove over 
the trees. See the pink on its breast and 
the pearl on the under side of its wings ! 
Is that not good? Jah?” 

“But we want you, yourself,” said a 
boy, going around and standing sturdily 
in front of the potter, between him and the 
approach to the bridge. The rosy old man 
dropped his hands in despair. 

“I have something to give you,” cried 
Berthada, suddenly. “Something that he 
has forgotten to say. You will like it 
best of all. Of that I am sure !” 

The children, who had been indifferent 
to her presence, now turned eagerly toward 
her. 

“What is it ?” asked a yellow-haired girl, 
stepping forward diffidently. 

“It is his true promise that he will soon 
come back to you !” Berthada cried, and 
they released him with a babel of laughter, 
admonishments, and cheers, running back 


i6o 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


to their play and to their work in the gera- 
nium patches. 

“They might have come with us ,” ven- 
tured Berthada with a smile, as she went 
on with Gottlieb, the potter. But he 
shook his head. 

“My wife does not like children,” he 
sighed. Then added: “I hope, I know, 
in truth, that they, my lass, are dear to 
you.” 

“Of course,” she said, and smiled as she 
thought of the romping rogues in Swabia’s 
towered halls. 

“That is well,” he replied heartily. “But 
come ; here is my house.” 

And they hurried along to a wee, red- 
roofed cottage, and were received by the 
potter’s wife, who rose from a table as they 
entered. She was a tiny old dame with a 
red petticoat and high-heeled shoes ; and 
she had been making and painting dolls 
while the storm had raged, and now a great 


THE TOY-MAKERS’ VILLAGE 161 


number of them were piled together on 
the shelf beside her. 

That she was not pleased with the in- 
terruption was evident at a glance, and 
she treated Berthada with scant cordiality. 

“Have I not told you to bring no young 
ones here ? ” she said, frowning at her 
husband. And Berthada knew why the 
children had not crossed the bridge, before 
her hostess, looking her over, observed 
critically : 

“What a huge girl you are: all hands 
and feet. I must say I should be loath to 
trade one of my beautiful dolls for you ! 
Your mouth is much too large, and I should 
not have chosen that shade of glass for 
your eyes.” 

“My eyes are not glass,” protested the 
princess, turning appealingly to the potter. 
But the old man had gone to the cupboard 
to prepare something for her to eat, and the 
doll-maker, having said her say, resumed 


i 62 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


her occupation without waiting for an 
answer, and was even now painting the 
cheeks of a large manikin a fine rose color. 

Berthada pouted and looked resentful 
until she realized how funny it was for the 
king’s daughter to be snubbed by an old 
woman in a red petticoat. Then she 
laughed so suddenly and so merrily that 
it was all she could do to keep the secret 
when the potter came hurrying back. And 
she thought it was very droll when the old 
woman said, putting her hands up to her 
ears: 

“Thor save us, what a sound ! Thankful 
am I that none have heard a doll of mine 
laugh thus !” 

The potter brought her a bowl of milk 
with a crust of black bread, which she ate 
with rare appetite. Then, glancing out 
through the vine-clad portico, she dis- 
covered that the sun, which had been but 
just climbing the eastern slope of the sky 


THE TOY-MAKERS’ VILLAGE 163 


when she started on her adventures, was 
now declining. 

She started up and hurriedly said good-by 
to the doll-maker, who nodded without look- 
ing at her, and went out with the potter. 
A shout greeted them as they appeared, 
and a dozen shock heads came in sight over 
the arch of the bridge. The children 
were waiting for their friend, and his rosy 
face wrinkled with pleasure. 

He would have gone with her to the edge 
of the wood, if she had wished. But as 
she did not realize how deeply she had 
penetrated into the strange forest, she was 
confident that she would soon be able to 
see the castle high upon its hill, and then it 
would be easy enough to find her way home. 

“There is, no doubt, a bridge,” she 
reasoned. “My father will have spanned 
the stream at every town for his beloved 
people.” 

So she set out joyously, which proved how 


164 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


very little, after all, she knew about the 
ways of monarchs. 

For there was no way of crossing the river 
but as she had come. And Rego was at 
this time surrounded by a terrified group of 
grooms in his own stable, while in the castle 
there was the utmost confusion and dismay, 
which grew greater when from time to time 
the searching parties that had been sent 
out to find the princess came back without 
success. 

For Berthada was lost ! And no one 
knew where to find her. But when the 
midnight came, and the queen had tried 
in vain to pierce the darkness with her 
loving, weeping eyes, she had a sudden 
thought and sent in great haste for Dugel. 

He found her in the tower room, from 
whose window she had seen the troops of 
Slazek follow a young piper. And she 
turned as he entered, with her brows 
bright with hope. 


THE TOY-MAKERS’ VILLAGE 165 


“Find him, the yellow-haired, good 
Dugel,” she cried. “It can not be beyond 
your power. Indeed, I feel our need will 
bring him to our service ! And he, once 
found, will find our treasure — ” 

A sob stopped her utterance. But when 
she could again speak there was no need 
of words. For Dugel had gone. 

She leaned far out of her casement and 
heard the beat of hoofs in the castle yard 
upon the drawbridge. Then they gave 
back an instant’s clatter from the highway 
and struck the soft turf of the greenwood 
silently. 

Hildegarde sighed, but smiled through 
all her tears a moment later. 

“’Tis strange,” she murmured, “but my 
care is lifted. I know not why ; but some 
way I am comforted. The youth will 
surely find her!” 

Dugel struck the door of Gid’s hut 
with his riding whip, a half hour later. 


1 66 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


and Clovis answered, his eyes heavy with 
sleep. 

“The girl for whom you laid the path of 
spears is gone,” he said hoarsely. “ The 
little maid in blue — ” 

But Clovis, without waiting to hear 
more, lifted his pipes to his lips and sounded 
one note that had scarcely died in air 
when, with a low neigh, Storm came 
cantering through the trees. With a leap 
the boy was upon the glossy brown back. 

“I shall find her,” he said, little dreaming 
that he was repeating the very words of 
his singing queen. And he was away, 
following his own patteran of crimson 
flowers and traced spears to the open road, 
the patteran he had made to guide her 
when she should seek the forest path once 
more. And Dugel looked after him, his 
eyes losing their anxiety. 

“I doubt not that my pupil will keep his 
word,” he said, with assurance that was not 


THE TOY-MAKERS’ VILLAGE 167 


unmixed with pride. “Wherever she is, 
he will bring her safely to her mother’s 
waiting arms. Yet, scarcely must I let 
him go as far as that ! He must not know 
the blue-clad witch is daughter of the queen. 
He must not know, — until it is his hour 
for knowing !” 

He started toward his horse, and, mount- 
ing, made his way swiftly to the castle with 
the reassuring news, intending then to hurry 
back to the cross-roads to await the return 
of Clovis with the lost damsel. For, as 
he had said, he had no intention of letting 
the wild, piping, forest lad discover that 
the little lass was none other than the 
king’s own daughter. 

Clovis found her at the first break of 
dawn at the brink of the river. His 
trained young eyes had discovered some- 
thing brightly azure against the green bank 
of the further shore ; and when Storm had 
made the ford, he leaped down and saw her 


i68 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


lying like a broken flower on the grass. She 
was sleeping deeply, wearied with her long 
wanderings, and her face was marred with 
tears. 

With infinite care and gentleness he 
lifted her to Storm’s broad back and 
lightly sprang behind her, drawing her 
dark head to the hollow of his arm. Then 
at a low word to Storm, they wheeled 
back and forded the stream on the return 
journey. 

It was radiant day when, from his post 
at the fork of the roads, Dugel saw them 
coming. And he gave a shout so ringing 
and full of joy that the girl wakened to 
consciousness. 

She opened her eyes that were like gen- 
tians, fringed and purple-hued, and gazed 
directly into his, bending above her. And 
for a moment neither stirred. Then she 
sat up, raising her head from his arm, and 
smiled. But the boy, with the red leaping 


THE TOY-MAKERS’ VILLAGE 169 


in his cheeks, sprang from his place, and 
fled into the greenwood before he could be 
hailed or hindered. 

Storm showed an inclination to follow 
him, princess and all, but from the thicket 
Clovis called to him to stay, and he sub- 
mitted. 

Then, with the hand of Dugel, whom he 
well knew, in his mane, and the girl on 
his back, the Best-Horse-in-the-World went 
proudly up the road and entered the gates 
of the castle. 


CHAPTER XVII 


THE BALLAD OF THE MERRY ROBBERS 

K ING KARL and his troops were 
camped in the Pyrenees, some dis- 
tance from his own little kingdom 
of Swabia. For the quarrelsome monarch 
was now finding it necessary to go farther 
and farther afield to find people to fight 
with, since he was almost always successful 
in conquering the countries that opposed 
him and in adding their territory to his 
own. For this reason the surrounding 
principalities tried to keep on friendly 
terms with him and to pay him whatever 
tribute he required rather than to be con- 
tinually in turmoil. 

It was just before the beginning of the 
Third Crusade : a period of unusual peace 


THE BALLAD OF THE ROBBERS 171 


in Europe. And King Karl, who had within 
him the making of a great warrior, had to 
satisfy his love for fighting by somewhat 
ignoble land-grabbing skirmishes here and 
there. 

Now he was in the mountains, where his 
forefather, the illustrious Charlemagne, had 
fought, in the hope that he could find the 
remnants of that wild Basque tribe that had 
so basely dealt with Roland. There had 
been many tales of the activities of these 
people who maintained their fastnesses 
in the hills and descended like wolves upon 
the pastoral villages that dotted the plains. 
But now, although the royal army had 
been in the mountains for many days, 
there were no signs of the enemy; and 
the troopers were beginning to grumble 
and fret to be in the saddle again, gallop- 
ing toward home. 

It was at this time that a minstrel, 
toiling up the height with a harp upon his 


172 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


back, was greeted by the soldiers with 
shouts and cheers. 

“Hey dey,” called the king himself, 
beckoning him. And Charles, the crown 
prince, a boy whose heart was as kind as it 
was bold, ran down the steep path to meet 
and greet the minstrel, crying : 

“On, on, old love-singer ! And be sure 
you make for us a merry tale. For I 
confess I am about to weep for homesick- 
ness !” 

And he lifted the heavy harp from the 
bent shoulders to carry it in his own 
strong young arms. 

It was not an unusual thing at that time, 
late in the twelfth century, for troubadours, 
or travelling poets, to go about from place 
to place, carrying the news of great events 
from one remote castle to another, knitting 
together the little kingdoms with their 
tinsel threads of song. They carried their 
tales in their minds for the instruction and 


THE BALLAD OF THE ROBBERS 173 


entertainment of their patrons, and they 
were honored guests in castle, hall, or 
camp. 

So the appearance of the minstrel in 
Karl’s city of war-tents was hailed with 
delight rather than surprise ; and immediate 
preparations for his refreshment and com- 
fort were made by the king and his officers 
as soon as the old man came into sight. 

The newcomer was dressed in a gray 
cloak of the fashion worn by foot-travellers, 
with the peaked hood drawn well down 
over his brows, from under which blue 
eyes gleamed, twinkling and merry. The 
laughing mouth was hid by a long white 
beard. But, although he appeared some- 
what feeble and old, his voice, when he 
began to sing, after some twanging of his 
harp’s strings, when he was fairly settled 
in the king’s pavilion with the eager troopers 
around him, was strong and vibrant enough, 
in all conscience. 


174 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


Charles, listening with the rest, started 
forward at the first preparatory humming 
note. He looked, then smiled, and leaned 
back against a huge bowlder to await de- 
velopments. 

There was something extremely familiar 
to him in that old meistersinger’s young 
tones ! 

Karl, too, seemed a bit puzzled. He 
looked out from beneath his tawny brows, 
frowning in bewilderment. Then he sat 
down on his couch, which, with the pavilion 
itself, was adorned simply and only with 
such rude comfort as he deemed proper 
for a soldier, and motioned to the trouba- 
dour to go on with his song. 

A page had arranged a low seat for the 
bard, and a trumpeter sounded an assembly 
call which brought the men running up 
from different quarters as he began a 
ballad about some Merry Robbers and a 
Queen’s Treasure. 


THE BALLAD OF THE ROBBERS 175 


The chief laughed ‘ Ha ! ’ the chief laughed “ Ho ! * 
Loud laughed the band, replying. 

‘ My merry rogues,’ quoth he, ‘we’ll go — 

There’ll be no harm in trying. 

The queen has said, we’ve heard from far, 

No thief knows where her treasures are ! ’ 

The minstrel lifted his forefinger as he said 
the last words, mockingly. And the crown 
prince, with a merry, knowing wink at the 
singer, leaped up and repeated the line, to 
the amusement of the company. Then the 
tale was resumed. 

It gave the robbers rare delight 
To mock the words she uttered. 

‘ Before the moon is high to-night 
We’ll see,’ the rascals muttered ! 

‘ So up, away, by rock and burn 
The early birdling gets the worm ! ’ 

The king slapped his knee and laughed. 

“The tale begins well,” he cried. “Go 
blithely, good minstrel,” and the singer, 
saluting, continued : 


176 THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


Within their den they made with glee 
Their plans to reach the castle. 

Each like a knight of high degree 
Was decked with plume and tassel, 

And leggins, laced, and all o’ that. 

With long black cloak and high peaked hat. 

With canvas bags upon their backs 
They all fared forth together, 

With slide and glide to hide their tracks 
Across the purple heather. 

For robbers, as we must confess. 

Know all about their bus-i-ness. 

The soldiers, who had crowded into the 
tent, took up the refrain of this, and sang 
with a will : 

* Know all about their bus-i-ness.* 

The minstrel smiled and went on : 

They reached the wall ; ’twas tall and grim, 
Each climbed another’s shoulders. 

The last one, when it came to him, 

Crawled up and scaled the bowlders. 

For acrobats, I’ve heard of late, 

Do things we cannot imitate. 


THE BALLAD OF THE ROBBERS 177 


A ripple of laughter followed this seriously 
spoken remark, and as he sang further, 
many of the younger knights and soldiers 
began leaping, tumbling, and making 
ladders and pyramids of themselves to suit 
the action to the minstrel’s word, until the 
whole camp was in a gale of merry confusion, 
which the king, who wanted to hear the 
story, stopped by a wave of his hand. 

And then at last they stood on top 
With no one harmed or sadder. 

And no one thought to take a drop — 

Because they had a ladder. 

But on the other side they found 
A deep, wet moat instead of ground ! 

“ That’s a pretty how-de-do,” groaned the 
listeners. But Karl signalled them to keep 
silence. 

The robber chief looked bored and said : 

‘We really need a ferry. 

The treasure house is just ahead, 

What now, my rascals merry ? * 


178 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


They laughed, as each prepared to spring : 

‘ A human bridge is just the thing.’ 

One gave a leap, one gave a toss 
To shoulders firm and ready. 

The living line then swung across 
And made a bridge quite steady. 

With feet as dry as pussy-cat’s 
The chief walked on his acrobats. 

A storm of laughter and applause stopped 
the recital, and there was a tremendous 
amount of wrestling and tumbling. 

Finally four of the liveliest young squires, 
standing on each other’s shoulders and 
catching each other’s ankles with their 
hands, swung themselves over a crevice, 
and called for Prince Charlie to cross the 
chasm on their backs. 

This he was about to do when the king 
sharply ordered them to wait until the tale 
was told. So they came, leaping like 
young fauns, and the story was con- 
tinued : 


THE BALLAD OF THE ROBBERS 179 


’Twas easy such a moat to span — 

They did it in a minute. 

To get out was another plan — 

They all fell splashing in it. 

But soon on shore in dripping togs 
They shook themselves like water-dogs. 

The treasure house was plain to see — 

They scarce restrained their laughter. 

The chief broke in right easilee, 

The others followed after. 

And as they shovelled up the gold 
They sang blithe staves of ballads old. 

“La, la, lalala !” the camp took up the 
strain. But Karl thundered : “Go on.” 

The minstrel, shaking with suppressed 
laughter, obeyed him: 

The queen had watched them come and go 
From out her upper casement. 

‘ Run, little page/ she cried, * and show 
The gold that’s in the basement.* 

And then she called, they heard from far, 

‘ You know not where my treasures are ! ’ 

The robber heard her words, and saw 
Her smiling face with wonder. 


i8o 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


And ev’ry rascal dropped his jaw, 

But no one dropped his plunder. 

And then the chieftain cried : ‘ I see 
That here there is some mysterie. 

‘ Am I awake or do I dream ? 

’Tis really quite confusing. 

Are these the riches that they seem. 

Or am I merely snoozing ? 

I’ll pinch each roguish jackanape 
To find out if I am awake.’ 

They flinched beneath his brawny hand 
And cringed and ‘ouched !’ protesting. 

‘ I think,’ quoth he, ‘ my joyous band. 

The lady was but jesting.’ 

He pinched an arm, he tweaked an ear : 

‘ Ho ! Ho ! ’ he roared. ‘ No sleepers here.’ 

The minstrel stopped at this point ; and 
the crown prince slyly pinched his page 
until the latter yelled lustily. 

“Have done with your nonsense,” called 
the king to the youths, and the singer 
proceeded : 

He turned toward the queen and bowed 
With fine and courtly seeming. 


THE BALLAD OF THE ROBBERS 181 


‘I beg/ he said, ‘to be allowed 
To ask your royal meaning.’ 

The others saw her hand upraised 
To beckon him, and stood amazed. 

The robber doffed his bonnet then. 

And stepped inside the portal, 

And all his damp and merry men 
Began to grin and chortle, 

And snicker in their robbrous glee: 

4 Oh, this is easy thieverie ! ’ 

He followed where the lady led 
Through halls and stairways splendid, 

As swiftly, lightly on she sped 
To where the journey ended. 

And then she stopped and oped a door 
Where children played upon the floor. 

4 This is my gold, this hair so bright, 

My gems these sweet eyes, shining. 

I loose my necklace ev’ry night 
To feel these soft arms twining.’ 

The lady laughed — they heard outside : 

4 Here,’ said the queen, 4 my treasures hide.’ 

The soldiers, listening, looked at each 
other. But they did not again interrupt 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


182 

the minstrel. The king’s gaze grew suddenly 
wistful and sad. He turned and glanced 
at his son, to find the gaze of Charles upon 
him. 

But now the troubadour changed into a 
merry measure, which set all to laughing 
again. 

He said : 

But while the chieftain, stricken dumb. 

Was standing there and gaping, 

With whoops he saw the children come, 

And there was no escaping. 

They pulled him down and made him wheeze 
Around and round on hands and knees. 

They rode him up and down the place 
Three on his back, with shouting, 

Until he cried aloud for grace 
In terror beyond doubting. 

‘ I pray you, gracious queen,’ he said, 

‘ Take, take your gems from off my head ! 

Back to his waiting band he ran 
As scared as any rabbit. 

His hat was lost, they gasped to scan 


THE BALLAD OF THE ROBBERS 183 


His torn and tattered habit. 

But he was dazed with what he’d heard. 

And made no sign and spoke no word. 

But when he raised his sack once more, 

And his, each merry minion, 

He muttered softly, o’er and o’er, 

‘ Each one to his opinion.’ 

And as he sadly shook his head, 

‘Each one to his opinion,’ said. 

‘ Come ho, come ho, my jolly knaves, 

’Tis time we were returning, 

But for the gold the lady saves, 

I find I have no yearning.’ 

And so Queen Hildegarde, the blest , 

Still guards her babes upon her breast / 

The king leaped to his feet as the name 
of his wife was spoken. But the minstrel 
was already standing, and every officer and 
man was waving his cap in air and crying : 

“Long live the queen !” 

But Prince Charles, crying, “Dugel,” had 
snatched at the long white beard and the 
long gray mantle of the minstrel, and they 


184 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


came off together, revealing the court 
jester’s face and form. 

“I knew you at once,” cried the youth, 
laughing joyously, and then there was a 
babel of voices asking for news from 
home. 

But it was evident to Karl that the long 
journey would not have been undertaken 
by one so important to the welfare of the 
royal household unless a good reason had 
prompted the pilgrimage. He called Dugel 
aside and said anxiously : 

“Some deeper meaning dwells beneath 
your merry song, good Dugel. What of my 
queen ?” 

“I would speak with you beyond the 
hearing of the troops, your majesty,” re- 
plied the jester in a low tone. “Although 
concerning that dear lady and her babes 
there is no cause for fear.” 

Karl’s brow cleared. “All other news 
can wait,” he smiled, “if it is well with my 


THE BALLAD OF THE ROBBERS 185 


brave lady. Come, rest and refresh your- 
self.” 

He led the way to his sleeping tent 
that he might talk with Dugel with still 
greater privacy, and the troops scattered, 
singing as they went snatches of the 
merry tale. 

But the jester was not laughing now. 
He had an important message to deliver 
to his careless and undisciplined king, and 
he was trying to fit it into words that 
should reveal the truth without too griev- 
ously wounding the listener. 

Prince Charles joined them as they 
walked along, and of that Dugel was glad. 
For he brought a warning that the Swabians 
were about to rebel against Karl, and had 
planned indeed to drive him from his 
throne. 

It was astounding news. And, in fact, 
when it was partly told, in a fit of surprised 
rage Karl attempted to strike the faithful 


1 86 THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 

messenger with his sword. But the prince 
cried out and sprang between them, catch- 
ing his father’s wrist. 

“Patience, O my father,” cried the boy. 
“Let Dugel tell us all: for in truth the 
words are less hard for us to hear than for 
him to speak.” 

Then, as with a sigh the monarch resigned 
himself to hear the unpleasant tidings, the 
messenger briefly but truthfully revealed 
the whole story. 

It seemed that the murmurings long heard 
about the throne had swelled into a cry 
of bitter discontent. The king’s repeated 
wars, his long absences from home, and the 
unprotected condition of the country as a 
whole, had caused the people to seek else- 
where for a defender, and it was said — and 
here Dugel’s voice took on a lower key — 
that there was an unknown knight, per- 
chance the very one who had so strangely 
saved the country from the Huns, who was 


THE BALLAD OF THE ROBBERS 187 


even at this time being sought that Swabia 
might make him king ! 

King Karl sprang to his feet and advanced 
upon Dugel in fury. His blue eyes flamed 
under their tawny brows. His voice rose 
to a shout of rage. But even as he again 
sought to strike, his hand fell to his side, 
and he said brokenly : 

“But speak. I will not harm you. It 
is, as Charles has said, a gallant messenger 
who bears ill tidings to his king with 
faithful courage. Tell me of this upstart 
who would wrest from me the crown which 
I received from Heaven ! Whence comes 
he? And what is his name?” 

This, however, the jester pretended not 
to know. 

“The placards which I wrote at your 
command, your majesty, and caused to 
hang on every highway and cross-road 
throughout the land, brought no response. 
The youth remains, as when he led 


1 88 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


Black Slazek to your royal hands, un- 
known.” 

But the prince interrupted : 

"Is that your knight? Then shall I 
prove him a pretender, a forest dweller, an 
untaught boy.” He spoke with laughing 
scorn. "Where is his army that he would 
try to take my father’s throne ? ” 

"In truth I doubt if he so much as dreams 
of such a plan,” replied Dugel, earnestly. 
"The people seek him hourly, but he has 
not been found. His part has been to serve 
them secretly, asking no return for what 
he does for them. It has been said that he, 
knowing no love of mother or of home, had 
made a childish vow to serve his queen, and 
serving her, to also live for Swabia. Per- 
haps ’tis but a rumor. But it would seem 
to have some little leaven of the truth, 
since, though he works in secret, he has 
saved the land from floods and other 
perils.” 


THE BALLAD OF THE ROBBERS 189 


“But how?” Prince Charles asked fret- 
fully. “ Had he some means to hold the 
waters back, even as he piped the horses 
on?” 

Dugel considered the question, but did 
not answer it. Instead he turned toward 
the king : 

“My heart holds a message for you, your 
majesty, as a casket holds a precious jewel. 
This has Queen Hildegarde bade me say : 

“ ‘ Make haste to Swabia, King Karl, and 
win back your people by your heartsome 
presence, your word, your smile ; and com- 
fort those who wait for you within the 
five-towered halls. 5 ” 

{ He had swept off his plumed cap, with 
which he had replaced the false white hair 
and beard of the old minstrel, as he spoke 
the words the queen had asked him to 
repeat; and now the king and the young 
prince were standing, listening tenderly. 

“Let us go home, my father ! 55 called 


iqo THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 

Charles. But the king had already caught 
up the bugle that was lying close at hand 
and had sent a winding blast as an answer. 

Then, as the troops from far and near 
began to assemble, he hurriedly buckled 
on his coat of mail, and, striding from the 
tent, gave orders for them to make immedi- 
ate preparations to return with all speed to 
Swabia. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THE FACE IN THE TAPESTRY 

T HREE years had passed since Dugel, 
in his minstrel dress, sang his ballad 
of the Merry Robbers in the far-off 
camp in the mountains, and Karl was still 
king of Swabia. 

The three years had made little change 
in the older folk. But Berthada, the 
princess, had grown like a lily, tall and fair. 
And Ludwig and Fritz were beginning to 
accompany their father on his still frequent 
wars. They were fine, brave lads. And 
when they were at home, the halls re- 
sounded with the songs that they had 
learned of the soldiers : rough roundelays, 
full of strange words. But the girl liked 
them, and sometimes she imagined how 


192 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


they might stir the heart when troopers 
sang them in some far-off camp under the 
stranger stars. 

It was lonely for Roseblossom when her 
old playfellows were away, and her greatest 
solace was in weaving their portraits into 
her tapestry, as she stood before the great 
frames in the tower. 

This she was able to do with remarkable 
skill. And the queen exclaimed in delight 
when she beheld the handsome features 
of her sons repeated over and over again 
in Berthada’s needlework. 

But on more than one occasion she had 
studied the face of still another woven 
picture with some perplexity. 

“Here is the likeness of Ludwig,” she said, 
bending low over the canvas and examining 
the embroidery with gentle criticism, “and 
’tis well done. And here is Fritz; under 
your loving hand his features take the hue 
of life. But who is this ?” 


THE FACE IN THE TAPESTRY 193 


She laid her finger on the picture of a 
youth whose yellow hair had been worked 
out in threads of gold, and turned inquiring 
eyes upon her daughter. “His face and 
form,” she added, considering thought- 
fully, “are kingliest of all. And yet I 
do not know him.” 

For a moment the little princess sought 
to speak. Her white throat throbbed with 
words that found no sound. Then she said, 
tremulously, pointing to the casement in its 
wall of stone : 

“From this very window, O my mother, 
we beheld him as he led Black Slazek’s 
horsemen from our walls. It is the piping 
forest boy, clad as a knight, as I would fain 
behold him !” 

She sighed and added: “I would that 
he might come, even thus late, to take our 
thanks.” 

The queen smiled kindly. 

“We owe him double measure,” she 


194 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


declared, “for, although you know it not, 
’twas he who rescued you, little runaway, 
the day that Rego came back home with 
empty saddle ! But,” she went on, not 
seeing the conscious blush that swept the 
young girl’s face, “your needle has more 
cunning than I dreamed, if from that one 
confusing scene your picture grew.” 

She studied the boy’s face in the tapestry 
pattern with close attention, marvelling 
at the artist’s skill. But the cheeks of the 
princess glowed. 

“I — I have beheld him since,” she said 
at last, softly. 

“ And told not me ? ” The mother look 
and voice held both reproof and sorrow. 
“Then am I so unkind you dared not 
trust me?” j 

“My mother, no !” cried the girl, clasping 
her hands. “ I know not why it was I could 
not speak. But I have seen him — twice ! 
Once in the forest, but a moment’s space. 


THE FACE IN THE TAPESTRY 195 


And once, when waking at Sir Dugel’s cry 
of joy — the day you name — I found my- 
self before him on a steed. Then looked we 
each into the other’s eyes, and on the cur- 
tains of my sight his face remained.” 

She stopped, weeping piteously, and 
cried: “Oh, be not angry with me, dear, 
my mother!” 

“Has he not sought you?” asked 
the queen, gravely, her arm around her 
daughter’s slender form. 

But Berthada shook her head. “No,” 
she murmured. “’Twas I who sought him 
and found him not, through all these three 
long years.” And she flung herself to weep 
out her grief upon her mother’s bosom. 

But when all had been told, and rid of 
her long-kept secret and in full confidence 
with her best and wisest friend, the girl 
smiled and went singing to her tapestry, the 
queen called Dugel, and learned such things 
as she had not yet been told concerning the 


196 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


acquaintance of the princess and the for- 
ester. 

There was a long conference between 
them. But after he had emptied his heart 
of all hoarded truth upon that subject, 
Dugel went to his tasks, and the queen 
sat quite alone, tapping her slippered 
foot and frowning thoughtfully. 

“I would that Charles were here,” she 
said. “For in the absence of my king I 
need his counsel.” 

But her desire was far away from her. 
Prince Charles had become margrave of the 
newly established principality of Hohen- 
zollern, and was no longer close at hand 
to be the confidant of his mother in her 
perplexities. 

Charles had taken a bride from the north 
Rhine country, a year or so before. And 
now a little prince had just begun his reign 
of love in the new castle, not dreaming, as 
he stretched his baby hands to catch the 


THE FACE IN THE TAPESTRY 197 


sunshine glimmering on the walls, of the 
long line of war-lords that should come 
after him to be kings of Prussia and of 
Germany. 

So Hildegarde had to work out her prob- 
lems alone, and she reviewed them as she 
sat in her tower chamber. 

In Swabia all was seeming calm. But 
she felt that Karl himself, inclined though 
he might be to scoff at every mention of 
the thing, knew in his heart that the unrest 
long brewing in his land needed but a 
leader to become a revolution. 

The discontent of which Dugel had so 
courageously warned him had grown stead- 
ily, and boded ill for Karl and his reign. 
He might have been overthrown at any 
time during the three flying years if a leader 
had presented himself. No leader had 
appeared. 

But there was a guardian over Swabia. 
Far out in the green forest he could some- 


198 THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 

times be heard playing his pipes at the 
dawn of day. But when the people went 
to seek him, he was as elusive as a sunbeam, 
now here, now there, but forever evading 
them. He had been followed by the hunters 
and urged by many a proclamation in the 
people’s name. But without avail. Al- 
though he was ever alert to be of service 
in pursuance of his vow, he could not be 
lured from his retreat in the forest, even 
by the command of his sovereign. 

It was a strange matter over which Hilde- 
garde, the queen, long pondered. 

The nature of the services that had been 
performed by Swabia’s unknown champion 
were varied. 

When the mountain torrents threatened 
the farm lands, it was he who had met the 
swift waters near their source, and, even as 
they started on their mad race to the valley, 
had dammed the tide with rocks and diverted 
the stream into another channel, whence 


THE FACE IN THE TAPESTRY 199 


it poured down, without harm, to the 
Danube. 

It was a simple thing, even for a boy’s 
young strength, to build a wall of rocks 
across a narrow stream. Its importance 
lay in the fact that it had been done in time : 
for the prompt action saved both life and 
property. It was but one instance of his 
ever watchful devotion to the interests of 
the country. But there were many things 
talked of in the cabins of the vale that winter 
and spring. A wood-cutter, well known to 
the homesteaders, had been caught in the 
embrace of a huge bear; but a sudden 
sound of mysterious music came from the 
thicket, and with a grunt the great beast 
released the man and trotted awkwardly 
away. Many a poor farmer, not able to 
properly seed and till his land, found his 
farms yielding good crops and presenting 
orderly fields. In fact, the whole region 
had begun to prosper so well that the tax 


200 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


was less hard to bear, and the country 
blossomed under the care of the tireless 
benefactor that many had glimpsed, but 
with whom no one had had speech. 

That this benefactor had fairy help in 
his work was not for a moment doubted by 
those early German folk, who had not be- 
come so sadly wise that they had lost all 
faith in the little green people. But to 
have evidences on every hand of the good- 
will of fairies is in itself an inspiration for 
human creatures to put forth their best 
efforts. So it was not strange that Swabia 
prospered. 

Other things were sometimes told con- 
cerning the Unknown that were of quite a 
different character. In truth, no man in 
all that land dared so much as lay whip to 
even a donkey for fear of the piper’s ven- 
geance. 

A yokel, shouting with laughter, red, 
gasping, ran into the tavern by the further 


THE FACE IN THE TAPESTRY 201 


turnpike one day in autumn and told, with 
roars of mirth, of what he had witnessed. 

A drover with a flock of sheep and a score 
of pigs, and a stout goatherd with a dozen 
animals, were on the highway, driving the 
beasts toward the Bad Baron’s forsaken 
pastures, when suddenly from the green- 
wood came a sound of music, and the bell 
wether stopped where he was and listened. 
Then with a blaring call he was away. 
“And be sure,” said the yokel, “the sheep 
and lambs were after him.” He stopped 
and laughed until he was obliged to wipe his 
eyes with the tail of his brown smock. 
Then continued : 

“The drover called, coaxed, ran, raged ! 
And I thought the herder would a’ died o’ 
laughter, watching him. But his laugh was 
on the other side of his mouth when he saw 
the goats, kids and all, going. Then the 
pigs went. No one could stay them. And 
there were left but two angry stockmen, 


202 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


stamping and cursing on the road, and the 
sound of pipes in the forest.” 

The tavern company roared at this, and 
thumped the oaken tables with their red 
hands until the ale in the great mugs 
spattered over. 

“The Bad Baron will get no animals for 
his farms,” observed one of the farmers 
who had come from the neighborhood of 
Werthum’s possessions. “I myself tried 
not two months ago to sell him beasts and 
fowls. But before I got them to his gates, 
the fairy piper lured them from the high- 
way.” 

“Did you then lose them ?” inquired the 
bar woman, with much concern, as she 
carried two clinking mugs in each hand to 
replace the emptied beakers on the tables. 

“Nay, they were home in their own pas- 
tures long before I got there,” he replied. 
“And so ’twill be with these flute-following 
beasts, I warrant ye.” 


THE FACE IN THE TAPESTRY 203 


The bar woman, plump, red-skirted, kind 
of eye, smiled knowingly. 

“No harm comes from the piper,” said 
she. But before she had time to gossip 
further with the group already there, two 
servants from the castle entered to post on 
the oaken walls of the public house an- 
nouncements of a tournament that was to 
be given for the people at Swabia. 


CHAPTER XIX 


THE ILLUMINATED PARCHMENT 

B ERTHADA came down the winding 
stair and sped gaily along the 
vaulted hall until she reached a 
half-opened door, through which she peeped 
inquisitively. 

“Good morrow, Dugel of Kells,” she 
cried, seeing the clerkly jester at work at a 
massive table under the mullioned window. 
“May I enter?” 

He shook his head and murmured an 
answer ; whereupon she marched in merrily. 

“But I said ‘nay,’” he began, waving a 
protesting hand, in which he held a brush 
dripping with vermilion color. “I would 
be alone with my task.” 

“That know I,” she nodded archly, 


THE ILLUMINATED PARCHMENT 205 


perching on the arm of a carved ebony 
chair, with her blue satin robe trailing, 
in the long lines that painters love, from 
the pearl clasps on her shoulders. “That 
know I, of a truth. But you yourself, 
Sir Dugel, have confessed that men say 
rarely what they mean to maids. So shall 
I read your speech to my own choosing. 
When you say ‘no/ with solemn, shaking 
head, I’ll call it ‘yes.’ What think you 
of my planning?* 

He laughed, bending over the parchment 
he was illuminating. 

“I think I’ll nod,” he said, “that you 
may read disfavor, since we’ve reversed 
the custom.” 

But she leaned across the table coaxingly. 

“Dear Dugel,” she said. 

But his cheek, usually pale, flushed 
deeply. Then he said, in a quiet voice 
that seemed at once to have lost all vibrant 
cheer: “Call me not that, my princess.” 


206 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


“ Call you not what ? ” Her eyes widened 
in perplexity. 

But he did not look at them as he replied: 

“ Call me not — 4 dear.’ ’Tis just a whim 
of mine ; be not displeased ! Call me 
‘old Dugel’ : call me ‘teacher’: call me 
‘fool’: but call me not ‘dear’!” 

His voice trembled, broke with feeling, 
long subdued. But, as the girl looked at 
him in amazed surprise, the color faded 
from his cheeks, and he turned to her again 
his accustomed courteous look that was 
gentle, even gay. 

“What would your highness ?” he asked ; 
and although he was somewhat pale, his 
manner was the same as it had been through 
all the years. 

“Show me the painting,” she exclaimed, 
with a little sigh that carried with it all her 
sudden wonderment over her good com- 
rade’s odd request. “I would that all this 
work were done, with every proclamation 


THE ILLUMINATED PARCHMENT 207 


in its place, and the tournament well started. 
I weary waiting ! ” 

She sighed, tapping an impatient foot 
upon the shining floor. 

But Dugel painted steadily, now and 
then holding his head back and studying 
his design with half-shut eyes. 

“Pray let me see,” she urged prettily, 
trying to get a glimpse of what he was 
doing over his shoulder. And at last, 
tolerantly, and as one well used to the 
caprices of a woman-child, he raised the 
board on which the skin was stretched, and 
took reward in her delight and praise for 
all that he had done. 

“D — Dugel !” she cried, almost for- 
getting that she was not to call him ‘dear,’ 
as she gazed at the parchment eagerly. 
“Never in all my days have I seen aught so 
beautiful ! Letters of scarlet and purple 
and little vines of gold, all for a programme 
for a joust of arms and a festival of singing 


208 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


that my father has appointed ! Where 
did your hand acquire this fine art ? ’Tis 
worthy of a missal !” 

“I learned from some old Irish monks 
who had gained their art by copying from 
the ancient Book of Kells,” he replied, well 
pleased that she was pleased, and by her 
praise rewarded. 

“What delicacy of line, what color!” 
she cried, bending still closer to examine it. 
“Long have I heard about the Book of 
Kells, and now I know something of what’s 
within it.” 

But he shook his head, laughingly pro- 
testing. 

“Nay, lady, nay, not so ! ’Tis but a 
circus programme that I have made you !” 

“’Tis beautiful,” she affirmed stoutly. 
Then a sudden thought crossed her mind 
and she turned again to Dugel. 

“But tell me,” she exclaimed, “what 
will your good monks say to find that you 


THE ILLUMINATED PARCHMENT 209 


have used their pious arts for all this 
worldly, merry-making carnival?” 

Dugel thought a moment before he made 
reply. Then he said : 

“Wise priests will be glad to have my 
art used in the service of true merriment. 
For laughter and prayer are both good 
things and nearer alike than many folk 
believe them. What foolish priests may 
say, I care not. Nor need you, most royal 
lady ! But come, what think you of all 
these ? There are enough for all the coun- 
tryside to see. And the news will travel.” 

He sighed as he turned the painted sheep- 
skins for her to read ; and she glanced over 
the large number that lay upon the table 
ready to be posted along the highway. 

But she had heard the sigh, and now she 
questioned, gently: “Forgive me, Dugel, 
are you troubled by the preparations for 
this festival ? ” 

He smiled whimsically, and replied : 


210 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


“Within my heart there are two warring 
sprites ; one says that I am glad, one says 
I’m sorry. One tells me to do all within 
my power to find and then proclaim a 
champion for the tests, the while the 
other urges me to halt and hinder ! But 
such queer wars as rage within a man are 
not for arbitration by a court of maidens. 
So, look you at the programmes !” 

She smiled and pouted but knew not what 
to say, so wisely remained silent. 

The announcements of the three days’ 
tournament included a list of games with 
the prizes offered by the king, together 
with the name and rank of such contestants 
as had formally entered. 

; The princess read the illuminated list 
aloud, standing beside the artist, who had 
risen to rest his muscles, cramped with 
long wielding of the brush and quill, and 
was now gazing at his own work with eyes 
of mingled doubt and pleasure. 


THE ILLUMINATED PARCHMENT 211 


“’Tis fair,” he mused, “but it could be 
improved/’ 

The girl read slowly : 

ICarl 

By Grace of God 
King of Swabia 
Commands His Loyal Subjects 
To a Tournament 

A Joust will be Within the Tilting Field 
Contests of Valor 
Deeds of Prowess 

The Lists are Open — All Good Knights Attend 
Three Things Need They 
Nimble Swords 
Wise Horses 
Cool Heads 

At Herald Call, Mid Afternoon on Wednesday 
Pole Vaulting, there will be, Running, and Many a 
Bout between Matched Warriors 
Horse and Foot 

Contending Kings and Princes of the Blood 
Will Enter for the Final Prize 
And for the Victor There Will Be 
Reward 

Beyond the Gift of Empires 


212 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


Berthada read the parchment over, smil- 
ing at the manner of expression, until she 
came to the last. Then her white forehead 
crinkled in a frown of doubt. 

“I feel that there is something hidden in 
those words,” she ventured finally, laying 
her finger on the last glowing line, hesitat- 
ingly, as Dugel watched, keen-eyed, the 
tumult of her thought. “ Something is 
there beyond my power of finding ! ” 

“ There is something hidden in every 
written word,” returned the man seriously. 
“And you are right: a secret hides in 
these ! ” 

“I know, I know,” she cried, clasping 
her hands. “It is the great contest for 
Roland’s blameless sword ! It is — that 
know I !” 

She ran to the window, laughing gaily, 
and then, as upon that other day three 
years before, trumpeted through her pink- 
palmed hands while the light from the jew- 


THE ILLUMINATED PARCHMENT 213 


elled pane sparkled around her : “ Oho-o, 
Oho-o-o, Kings and Conquerors, assem- 
ble ! Oho-o, Knights and Gentlemen to 
the Tournament ! Whoever wins the flam- 
ing sword of Roland shall be given — ” 
She stopped, dropping her play, and 
turned to her companion. 

“ What prize will he be given, Sir Dugel ? 
So far you have not told me.” 

But the artist was mixing his pigments 
and made no sign that he had heard. And 
after a moment, during which he felt 
rather than saw through her white throat 
the eager words beating, she turned with a 
little triumphant laugh and ran away. 

The light tread of her satin-shod feet, as 
she crossed the ancient hall, seemed upon 
his heart. But he bent to his painting 
again with his deep eyes full of noble re- 
nunciation. And into the lines which prom- 
ised the reward to the victor in the final 
contest, deftly and delicately, with all the 


214 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


art learned of the pious monks of Kells, 
he drew the small, winged figure of a cer- 
tain Pagan god called Cupid and also 
known as Love. 


CHAPTER XX 


THE WAR-LORD 

A RCHED with green and hung with 
royal banners, the countryside pre- 
sented a brilliant and colorful spec- 
tacle as the time drew near for the festival. 

The assembly was to be convened on a 
great field that lay between the castle and 
the cliffs and formed a natural amphi- 
theater for the sports. The place had been 
selected by the king because he desired to 
test the prowess of his knights in certain 
rough riding feats and to provide ample 
scope for hazards in the games. There 
were chasms to be leaped and sheer preci- 
pices to be scaled within the limits of this 
reservation, and the Swabian war-lord had 
been most ingenious in devising feats to try 


2l6 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


the courage as well as the skill of the com- 
petitors. In fact, the rules which accom- 
panied the schedule of deeds, which Karl 
handed over to his secretary, were so 
arbitrary that Dugel smiled as he scanned 
them and said : 

“ ’Twill be a brave company that essays 
the lists, your majesty ; worthy of all you 
offer them in way of honors.” 

The king laughed. 

“I have some wrestlers in my camp,” he 
said proudly, “that I would trust to bend 
the muscles of a Hercules ; and bowmen to 
compete with hunting gods. But, as you 
know, the jousts upon the tilting field are 
not the contests that concern me. My 
interest centers on the final thing. What 
young king is there in the land who’ll 
dare to enter such a soul-revealing game ?” 

Dugel looked up as though about to 
speak, then thought better of it and re- 
mained silent, writing steadily. 


THE WAR-LORD 


217 


But the king was absorbed in his own 
thought and did not notice the omission. 
He continued : 

“But I am sworn upon the sword itself 
to give my daughter to no man, whate’er 
his name or place, unless within his hand 
the white blade leaps in flame !” 

At the king’s words, ‘whate’er his name 
or place,’ Dugel looked up, and a burning 
flush swept his face. For a moment he 
struggled with an emotion too masterful 
to conquer, as he whispered to himself : 
“Could I but try ! Could I but try !” 

Then he dropped his head down upon 
his arm on the table in front of him, as the 
king, humming a soldier’s song, gazed out 
of the window. 

Karl was a tall, fair-haired man, and his 
skin was burned by the suns of an hundred 
battle-fields. He looked ill at ease in any 
coat but one of mail ; and now, as he 
abruptly turned and walked back and forth 


218 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


the length of the long room, the sun glit- 
tered on his light armor. He stopped be- 
side the secretary and asked : 

“Is there such a man, good Dugel ?” 

“‘Such a man ?’” Dugel repeated, some- 
what dazedly. And then: “Who knows, 
your majesty ? The test alone reveals. 
What man can judge another ? Are we 
not spirits clad in veils and hidden each 
from each ? Let the sword speak in 
flame. I cannot tell.” 

“Well,” said the king, smiling, “be 
not sad. I see you share our sorrow at 
the thought that you may lose your fairest 
pupil. But hark ! What’s this?” 

He hurried to the window. 

It was the laughter of troops in the court- 
yard that sent the light to his eyes again. 
And now he pushed open the sash and 
smiled down upon them proudly. Karl 
was a king and he was husband and father. 
But first of all he was a soldier, and with- 


THE WAR-LORD 


219 


out more dwelling on domestic themes, he 
called Dugel to come and witness the 
evolutions that the troops were making 
in the yard, and to join in his delight 
in the trim and trained appearance of 
his army. Then, after some commands 
shouted from the window and received 
by officers from the field as they reined 
up under the casement, saluted, and 
wheeled back again, Karl went hurriedly 
out to join them. 

Dugel heard him go down the oaken stair, 
and a few moments later caught the sound 
of excited voices, the neigh and whinny of 
steeds, the clank of armor, and then the 
hollow clatter of hoofs crossing the draw- 
bridge, as the king headed his troop for a 
gallop across country, to inspect the prepa- 
rations that the people were making for the 
tournament. 

Karl had not been a merry-making 
monarch. There had been few occasions 


220 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


that had called the Swabians together, save 
for war, during his reign. But now antici- 
pations were raised to the highest degree, 
and all the land was aglow with pleasure. 
More than this : the industries of the little 
kingdom received an impetus at the prospect 
of exhibiting at the great fair, and each 
manufacturing village was represented in 
the “ Street of Many Things” that was 
opened through the field between the main 
highway and the entrance to the newly 
created stadium, which was to be the 
scene of the contests. 

But while the work of road-making, team- 
ing, and building was being carried on with 
zest and enthusiasm by the men trained 
for those most useful occupations, and 
while in every cottage the women and chil- 
dren sat at their tasks of lace-making, or 
doll-making, or wood-carving, and while 
the rosy old grandmothers whose cheeks 
were like russet apples knitted and quaver- 


THE WAR-LORD 


221 


ingly sang, the chests of forgotten finery 
were being overhauled in cot and hall. 

Such costumes as were brought from the 
ancient wedding-chests and strong boxes 
are not to be found in Germany to-day 
though one should travel far. 

Petticoats embroidered with golden 
threads, standing alone in their stiffness 
and pride ! Bodices, jewelled and laced 
with silver cords ; chemisettes, cobweb fine ; 
berthas of frost-patterned lace; caps of 
cloth of silver incrusted with gems, old as 
the kingdom ! For the most part these 
splendid costumes came from gentry chests. 
But now and then an old peasant unfolded 
as quaint and curious treasures from a time- 
blackened box. Gold and silver were put 
in jewelry and clothes then as now, and a 
petticoat of silken stuff or an embroidered 
bodice was sent down the generations with 
some family pride. 

The men folks, save those wearing armor, 


222 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


scarcely expected to be so gay as to attire. 
But whatever his station or whatever his 
purse, there was a new ribbon and a feather 
for each peaked cap, and a face to shine 
joyously beneath it, however somber and 
worn the suit might be. 

The straw-thatched booths along either 
side the “Street of Things” were full of 
tremendous animation, as the artisans, 
weavers, potters, toy-makers, the smiths 
and sword-makers and armorers unloaded 
and placed their various exhibitions in the 
space assigned to the arts and crafts rep- 
resented. 

But among the energetic craftsmen, driv- 
ing or leading their donkey carts, there was 
no happier man than Gottlieb, the forest 
potter. He pursed up his lips with a 
soundless whistle as he set his musical jugs 
in place, but he twinkled and smiled as he 
arranged his lustrous wares so that the sun- 
light might fall upon their wonderful pearl- 


THE WAR-LORD 


223 


like hues. And he put before a tall and beau- 
tiful vase, a vase that was worthy to hold a 
rose, a scroll on which was written modestly : 

“Gottlieb, ware-maker to the Queen.” 

An immense iron gate opened between 
posterns of masonry at the end of the busy 
lane of exhibition booths into the stadium 
above mentioned. And the populace was 
to enter through this gate and find places 
for themselves along the edges of the in- 
closure, leaving the center of the field free. 

A dais, or raised platform, overlooking 
this great oval had been arranged for the 
use of the royal family and such guests 
as might be staying at the castle. And 
the contestants, as well as the procession 
of visiting princes and dignitaries, were, 
upon entering, to pass in review before 
the purple pavilion and be conducted later 
to the places assigned to them. 

All these plans had been completed before 


224 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


Sir Dugel of Kells — who had been ap- 
pointed Master of Ceremonies by Royal 
favor, but who had been the heart and brain 
of the great project from the start — felt 
that he could take time to steal away to 
perform a most important mission in the 
heart of the ancient forest. 

It was not an easy mission that he had set 
out upon. And as he went only the One who 
reads the hearts of men could know that he 
had gained a greater victory than his king, 
with all his wars, had ever dreamed of. 
For Dugel had put aside his own desires 
manfully, and in so doing, he had become 
master of himself and captain of his soul. 

But now, as he hurried his horse through 
the copse, he was not going on a visit to 
his pupil Clovis, the piper. In truth, he 
struck off in quite a different way from that 
which led to Gid’s hut between the syca- 
mores, with the manner of one who is not 
entirely certain of the path. 


THE WAR-LORD 


225 


And sometimes he pressed ahead with 
such speed as the way made possible ; 
and sometimes he stopped his steed and 
peered about in the green twilight among 
the silent hosts of trees. But always he 
had the look of one who listens. On and 
on he went. Then to his ear came a clang 
of steel on steel, and almost at the same 
moment he caught the rosy glow of furnace 
fires. 

“Aha,” he cried. “So I have found 
where my friends the gnomes have set 
their forges !” 

And he plunged ahead toward the place, 
crackling through the branches that would 
have stayed his progress, treading the 
tangling vines beneath his feet, but pressing 
onward. And the little bells on his cap 
and pointed cape jingled and rang with his 
speed. For, like many another man who 
has grown sadly wise, he covered his breast 
with the garments of the fool. 


CHAPTER XXI 


THE ARMORERS’ SONG 

C LOVIS lay asleep on his couch of pine 
boughs in his father’s hut in the 
Black Forest. The door was opened 
to its full width ; the fragrant airs and the 
song of the trees alike were woven in the 
piper’s dream of the tournament which 
was to be opened at the herald’s call on 
the morrow. 

Strange scenes were pictured on the inner 
curtains of his sleeping eyes. He saw in his 
dream the vast and splendid amphitheater ; 
and the contests of speed, of horsemanship, 
of endurance, of strength, seemed to be 
enacted before him, each in turn. He 
beheld plumed knights riding furiously upon 
each other with lances : the advance, the 


THE ARMORERS’ SONG 


227 


recoil, and all the grim maneuvers of the 
field were as plain to him as though they 
had been taking place before his waking 
eyes. But he turned from them, and, above 
the mass of humanity that appeared like 
a huge parterre of brilliantly hued flowers 
set like a swaying border around the tilting 
grounds, he suddenly beheld one face. One 
face, shining out like a star under the purple 
canopy of the king ! 

His young soul stood uncovered to salute 
the lily maid that stood before him. Twice 
had he met her face to face. Once he had 
gazed into her eyes. He saw them now, 
black-fringed and shadowy, like dew-wet 
gentians. But he stirred in troubled pro- 
test in his dream. Why stood she now so 
close beside the singing queen ? He knew 
that she must be his singing queen. Her 
look was so divinely tender. And why were 
there so many tall young knights about 
the farmer’s daughter ? His heart cringed ; 


228 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


and he called the girl to don her doe-skin 
shoes and follow him ! 

Then he awoke. And the smoke-black- 
ened rafters of his hut shut out his 
vision of the stars. 

Clovis stretched out his arms. Of what 
use were the great muscles that moved so 
smoothly beneath the sun-stained skin ? 
They might serve to bring low the green 
heads of his friends, the trees. But what 
then ? 

Of what use were swift limbs, his trained 
mind, his cunning hand, his strong heart ? 

He lifted the crumpled parchment, which 
announced the opening of the lists, from 
the earthen floor where it had fallen when 
he dropped to sleep, and scanned it again 
by the white moonlight which poured 
through the door. 

Certain of the games and many of the 
athletic contests were to be participated 
in by knights and gentlemen of greater or 


THE ARMORERS’ SONG 


229 


less degree. But the final entry for the 
unknown, unnamed prize was closed to all 
save kings. 

The forester’s son glanced at his only coat, 
a buckskin garment fashioned by his own 
unskillful fingers, and he sighed. Then, 
as the night grew cold, he rose and shut the 
door and lay down again, closing his eyes 
resolutely. Perhaps he thought the dream 
might come to him again. 

But he did not hear, as he drifted into 
sleep, the tingle-tangle of tiny hammers 
that were even then studding a silver shield 
and giving the final blows to buckle and 
hasp on a suit of glistering armor. 

Since the night of Dugel’s visit to the 
forge, the gnomes had been at work. 
The unselfish man in motley had laid the 
entire matter of the tournament, with all 
that the contests meant, before the fairy 
smiths, well knowing that as they had shod 
Storm with the magic shoes, they would 


230 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


arm Storm’s master now. And he was 
not mistaken. They talked together long 
that night. In fact, morning was rosy on 
the castled hills of Swabia when Dugel made 
his way back to the hall. But he had 
scarcely gone when the gnomes set to work, 
beating and welding and weaving out of 
purest silver, hardened by some secret proc- 
ess for its use, a suit of mail, fine as a fab- 
ric of moonbeams but impenetrable as steel. 

Now, on the eve of the festival, the 
completed work lay in a shining heap on 
the hard-beaten floor of the cave, and the 
light from the furnace fires played over it 
rosily, and brought out the beauty of the 
delicately wrought pattern, the white- 
plumed helm, and the jasper-tipped lance 
that lay beside the mail. 

The work was complete : armet, corselet, 
hose — But where was the sword ? Could 
the three armorers have forgotten that ? 

They did not appear to miss any part 


THE ARMORERS’ SONG 


231 


of the work as they gaily lifted and weighted 
and readjusted it to their liking. 

They seemed, in fact, to be making ready, 
like three jolly tailors, to carry the finished 
suit home. For they leaped and laughed 
as they completed their preparations. But 
before they started out into the leafy wold 
with their shining burden, Elmo, with a 
merry wink and nod to the other two fairy 
men, began to sing, waving the jasper- 
tipped spear to keep the strange time of 
his melody : 

Well have we wrought, well have we done, — 
Ting, tong, tungalong, terry ! 

And now a work that is not begun 
Waits the hand of a mortal, merry. 

We wrought him helm, we forged him spear, — 
Ting, tong, tungalong, terry ! 

God mad$ him a heart without a fear, 

Else in vain were the help of fairy ! 

The other two hammered wildly on the 
anvils at this, jumping and leaping up and 


232 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


down while the firelight cast shadows like 
giant crickets on the cavern wall, as they 
repeated the last words : 

God made him a heart without a fear, 

Else in vain were the help of fairy ! 

Then with much laughter and some hurry, 
the three gathered the armor, piece by 
piece, and carried it in their twisted little 
arms out into the night. 

Just before the dawn began to creep 
through the woods, Clovis stirred in his 
sleep. There was the slightest sound out- 
side the walls. Could it be Gid returning 
from his night watch in the king’s park ? 
There had been some bold poaching going 
on lately, and the forester was sometimes 
long away from home. Or could a hungry 
bear be prowling through the wold ? 

Clovis did not lift his head from its pil- 
low of woven grasses to discover. His eyes 
were heavy with the recurring dreams. He 



They softly carried in the armor. Page 233. 








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THE ARMORERS’ SONG 


233 


kept his lids down to shut them in, they 
were so sweet. 

But if one had been watching from the 
outside, he might have been startled to see 
the rude door pushed inward on its leathern 
hinges, ever so slightly at first, then widen- 
ing to admit the grotesque shapes of the 
gnomes, as they softly carried in the 
armor and laid it down beside the sleeping 
boy and then, as silently, left the place, 
scudding out like shadows, three together. 

But Clovis started up at a strain that 
was brought to him by the first soft breeze 
of the morning ! A strain wild and far, 
through which he could faintly catch the 
sound of words like these : 

Awake, awake, awake — 

Your armor don, and take 
Your place to-day. 

Now is your hour come. 

Leave your wild forest home — 

Away, away ! 


CHAPTER XXII 


THE TOURNAMENT 

SPLENDID and colorful company 



gathered at the gate of the jousting 


field while yet the sun was low in the 
eastern heavens. For the events of the day 
were certain to crowd the hours, and the last 
great mysterious contest for the unnamed 
prize was announced to be at the edge of 


dusk. 


In the stirring days of preparation for the 
fair and the athletic games in which they 
were to be represented, the common people 
forgot their long-held resentment against 
Karl for his neglect of them, and were 
now anxious to show him reverence and 
honor. 

Few of them had ever been within the 


THE TOURNAMENT 


235 


massive walls that inclosed the lands about 
the castle; many a Swabian had never 
seen his ruler’s face. For, although in 
that age of almost patriarchal government, 
the king was supposed to be within easy 
reach of his subjects, the arbiter of all their 
differences and the guardian of their peace, 
Karl’s ceaseless wars had made him practi- 
cally a stranger in his land. 

It was because of this fact that the public 
festival pleased the people. It was the 
first holiday that they had had since he had 
been crowned, and they meant to make the 
best of it. They would show Karl how good 
his nation was to look upon ! 

And they made a multitude that any 
ruler might have been proud to claim as, 
gaily singing a carol made by the poet of 
the court, Sir Dugel, for the occasion, 
they marched through the great gate be- 
tween two companies of Knights Templar 
that chanced to be resting in the Swabian 


236 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


hill country between crusades, and had 
accepted Karl’s invitation to the merry- 
making. 

The plans of the simple folk to restore 
friendship and confidence between them- 
selves and their monarch had been care- 
fully made. And there is no doubt that 
they would have been successful, had it 
not been for one unlooked-for circumstance : 
and that was — the absence of the king ! 

The procession was well inside the walls 
when the news was broken to them. 

But when they approached the purple 
pavilion to be presented and to receive 
from their bluff prince some friendly word, 
they looked in vain for the towering ruddy 
head of the war-lord. 

The queen was there, with her sons, and 
Berthada smiled beside her ! 

But the peasants wanted the grip of 
the king’s hand, hard, and full of mastery, 
on their shoulders. They wanted to meet 


THE TOURNAMENT 


237 


the glance, compelling and eagle keen, of 
his fearless eyes. 

This was their day ! He had promised 
to meet them ! But he was not there to 
receive their allegiance ! 

They turned away, muttering. 

As a matter of fact, Karl had been called 
at dawn to go with all speed and put down 
a trouble that had broken out among the 
border barons. He had seen from his tower 
window the castle of the cruel Werthum, 
blazing like a torch upon its hill. The 
difficulties were evidently serious ; the 
king had ridden into them with his accus- 
tomed impetuous vigor, with his own guard 
clattering beside him ; and before the 
pikes of his galloping wedge the battling 
barons and their retainers scattered like 
chaff before a strong gale. 

The matter had been quickly done ; and 
after a stirrup-cup at a wayside inn, the 
king wheeled back toward his own valley, 


238 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


twenty miles away, while the burned and 
smoldering castle rose like a pillar of smoke 
behind him. 

He was not without thought of his people, 
by this time assembled in the fields. And he 
hoped to get back in season for the games. 
With this purpose in view he attempted 
to ride by a short cut across country. But 
he was more familiar with the hills of war 
than with his own green-edged highways, 
and it was not long before his whole com- 
pany fell, floundering, into a morass which 
detained them for a dreary while. And 
again, when once the horses gained the 
solid ground, they lost their way. 

There was a deal of grumbling and fuming 
among the knights in his company. They 
had their share in the carnival, and many a 
fair lady was fretting at her lord’s delay. 
But the sun seemed but a lance’s height 
above the five square towers of Swabia when 
at last they came in view, and there was 


THE TOURNAMENT 


239 


still hard riding ahead. Karl spurred on 
furiously. 

When the troops rode into the gate, the 
games had ended. Here and there over a 
little group waved the pennons which 
showed where the prizes had been awarded 
for the various contests. Wreathed and 
smiling victors paraded proudly about 
among prouder friends. A bugle sounded 
from the pavilion. 

The king, smiling in restored good-nature 
over the animated scene, commanded his 
followers to keep silence, and the troop 
entered the inclosure like so many shadows, 
and took places against the wall, unnoticed 
by the now absorbed people, who, at the 
bugle call, had stopped, each one in his 
place, in hushed expectancy. Every man, 
woman, and child in that vast assembly was 
bending forward with eager face and eyes 
strained, as, from the arched gate on the 
opposite side of the arena, came slowly and 


240 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


in single file six splendidly attired horse- 
men. 

Karl, dismounting hurriedly, made his 
way toward the pavilion. But, with his 
foot on the first step of the dais, he had an 
impulse to watch the contest without being 
himself seen. So he stepped back in the 
shadow of the Tyrean stuff that formed 
the canopy, as Dugel advanced to repeat 
what he had evidently announced, in part, 
before the arrival of the monarch. For he 
said : 

“Now, O people of Swabia, is the con- 
test for the great prize ! Her majesty, the 
queen, holds in her gracious hand the 
sword of Roland, the paladin. Each prince, 
as he approaches, will take and draw this 
blade. 

“Look then for a miracle! 

“For if that sword should burst in flame 
the hand that holds it may claim the hand 
of our most royal princess — Berthada.” 


THE TOURNAMENT 


241 


Dugel stopped. There was a deep- 
throated cheer from the crowd. Then he 
added : “So says the king.” 

Queen Hildegarde, who had been sitting 
among her ladies, now turned to the girl 
close beside her with some whispered 
words. 

It was evident that the maiden, startled 
by the news, was vigorously protesting. 
She clung to her mother’s arm and shook 
her head. But, as the queen, with great 
gentleness, loosed her hands and stepped 
forward, Berthada, with a sob, sank down 
and drew the veil of filmy lace to hide her 
tears. 

The queen was dressed in blue, with a 
mantle of cloth of silver. And she wore a 
crown adorned with seven diamond stars 
around her raven hair. The king’s heart 
thrilled with love and pride as he gazed upon 
her. But he had a fancy to let her conduct 
this matter in her own way, and so remained 


242 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


where he was as she walked slowly down 
to the front of the dais. 

For a moment she stood there with eyes 
downcast in thought and prayer. But 
when she lifted the time-blackened scabbard, 
by hilt and point, in her two jewelled hands, 
she raised her head and smiled. For well 
she knew that whoso stood the test of that 
white blade would be worthy of Berthada’s 
love. She wished the king were with her 
in that supreme moment that she knew was 
almost there. She did not know that he 
was close beside her, with his father heart 
beating heavily. 

But she was startled to find that Berthada 
had risen from her place, and, making her 
way along the dais, in front of the ladies and 
gentlemen of the house, now stood, white- 
veiled and trembling, but nobly proud, 
beside her mother’s shoulder. 

A murmur went over the great assembly 
at sight of the lovely, slender girl. But 


THE TOURNAMENT 


243 


now there was a flourish of trumpets 
afield, and one horseman rode away from 
his companions and advanced toward the 
pavilion. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


THE CONQUEROR 

T HE Lord of Dacia was the first to 
ride up and salute Queen Hildegarde. 
He was the youngest of the company, 
and he had a gay, boyish face that accorded 
well with his scarlet plume and mantle. It 
was known that Karl would be well pleased 
to knit the Dacian borders to his own; 
and the people warmed to this prince’s 
merry ways as he leaped from his horse and 
bent his knee — his glance upon the girl — 
at the queen’s feet. He received the blade 
lightly, unsheathed, and swung it in his 
hand. 

Berthada was oddly conscious that the 
labored, heavy sound she heard, so near at 
hand, was Dugel’s heart beating. 


THE CONQUEROR 


245 


A moment the young king held the sword, 
his laughing glance bold and confident. 
But it remained as it had been — inscribed 
with the faded scarlet lettering adown its 
lusterless blade — and the diamond in the 
hilt glittered dully. 

Daciare turned it to the lady’s hand, but 
sprang up, undaunted. 

! “I shall return when all the rest have 
failed,” he cried, with a sweeping, merry, 
mocking bow toward the girl, “ and light 
the sword from my own heart aflame ! 
For nowadays true love’s the only 
miracle.” 

He waved his plumed helm and spurred 
away right gallantly ; and the people 
laughed and cheered him. But Berthada, 
no longer trembling, smiled under her veil 
and pressed her mother’s arm. 

Three others passed,— dull youths from 
distant principalities. Each of these, con- 
strained by duty to his people to try to 


246 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


cement his kingdom to a richer one by 
marriage, lost heart and barely touched the 
sword, all learning thus late that it was 
a test of qualities little known to them, 
called “ courage, truth and honor.” 

Then came a prince from Austria : Otto, 
the Bold. 

And he rode as one who took of life 
whate’er he would — and received thanks 
with the taking. 

The queen noted his proud, hard smile, 
his sweeping glance of conquering power, 
and her hand tightened on the blade a 
second, before she submitted it to him. 
Karl almost betrayed his presence by a 
quick, protesting sigh, as he leaned forward. 
Here, indeed, was a prince glorious, famed 
as a warrior all over Europe, kin, as was 
Karl himself, to Charlemagne. And yet — 
and yet — Karl looked at his daughter. 
The veil that covered her white bosom rose 
and fell tremulously. He had a moment’s 


THE CONQUEROR 


247 


impulse to sweep her up in his father arms 
and bear her safely away ! 

But there was some waiting in the 
matter; for when Otto stretched out his 
hand, armed with its iron gauntlet, the 
queen cried: “A bare hand, a bare hand, 
my lord prince, so it please you !” 

And Otto, impatient, but conforming, for 
the once, called his squire to loose his 
vambrace and brassart, that he might grasp 
the blade in his uncovered palm. This 
took some moments, and the prince held 
his head haughtily and fretted at the 
delay. 

But when at last he swung the blade 
aloft, it cut the air with a sharp, singing 
sound and — that was all ! 

In the fast growing dusk it could scarcely 
be seen, so dark was it and dull against the 
failing day. 

Otto returned it with a curt bow ; and in 
a moment his pawing steed leaped at his 


248 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


spur and crunched the dust as he galloped 
away. 

The king breathed easily now. But 
one remained, — a prince from beyond the 
Elbe, a modest man of far too many years 
to mate with Swabia’s girl. He, too, re- 
ceived the sword and returned it as it came. 

Hildegarde took her daughter in her arms 
with mother joy. Not yet, it seemed, was 
she to part with her. And under her veil 
the maiden smiled and wept and smiled 
again. 

Karl had started toward them with the 
intention of greeting his subjects before 
they should go away, when the noise and 
bustle of preparation for departure that had 
followed the failure of the last contestant, 
was hushed suddenly, and when he turned 
to discover the cause, he saw that another 
horseman was just entering the outer gate. 

The newcomer rode slowly and with visor 
down. But the king saw that he was of 


THE CONQUEROR 


249 


noble mien and clad in a suit of silver armor. 
He rode into the center of the field, midway 
between the pavilion and the outer portal, 
and stood quite still. And all about was 
a waiting silence. But while the queen 
gazed at him with wondering eyes, Dugel 
arose from his place ; and it seemed to those 
who looked at him that he had suddenly 
grown old, so weary were his movements. 
But he took the sword from where the queen 
had laid it and restored it to her hand. 
Then, after a whispered word with her, he 
went to the edge of the dais and cried : 

“People of Swabia, there is a new con- 
testant in the field, who does not know 
what prize is offered to the victor. By the 
queen’s grace he will come forward now and 
take the sword of Roland in his hand.” 

He beckoned the silver knight, who came 
slowly forward, and from the great company 
about the throne there rose a single sigh. 

Who was he ? 


250 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


In vain the king searched his memory 
for such another form. But as the Un- 
known approached and the superb horse 
stopped, Berthada walked proudly by her 
mother’s side, as again, at the edge of the 
dais, the queen held the magic blade of the 
paladin, by hilt and tip, at length of her fair 
arms. 

Then the rider in his shining mail dis- 
mounted, and, helmed and visored still, bent 
an unaccustomed knee before the queen. 
For a moment’s space he knelt, and when 
he rose the plumes of his helmet brushed 
the golden fringe of the imperial canopy. 
But he stripped off his glove and doffed his 
helm, and even as the twilight deepened 
into dark, he took the sword of Roland 
reverently. 

Then above the bare head of the knight 
the white sword blossomed into flame. And 
all was silence, save for the low cry of a 
girl who stood beside her mother ! 


THE CONQUEROR 


251 


But, as Karl would have hastened to the 
place, the people, in one mad rush, hurled 
themselves between him and the Unknown, 
and the very hills echoed their tumultuous 
shouting : 

“ ’Tis he ! ” The sounds came thundering 
to the ears of Karl of Swabia. “’Tis he, 
our chosen king ! Away with Karl ! Down 
with the war-maker ! Long live the 
king !” 

Then, from the farthest sides of the arena, 
the great crowd surged about Clovis, the 
forester’s son. Men and women came 
running, laughing and weeping with joy. 

And Karl, the king, dazed, forgotten, and 
alone, watched as in a dream, while his 
courtiers, even the nobles of his household, 
swept away as by one overwhelming wave 
to bow the knee to the yellow-haired youth 
who stood among them, his brow still lighted 
by the radiance of the sword. 

Even Berthada, in her satin shoon, with 


252 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


her face still covered by the veil of gauze, 
crossed the greensward. 

“Make way, make way,” she cried to 
some of her ladies who sought to detain her. 

It was then the crowd parted, moving 
to either side. 

But Berthada went straight to the sword- 
bearer in the silver mail, and spoke his 
name softly, with a little laugh. 

“I would,” she murmured, as he bent 
from his tall height to see her face, “that 
I might walk the patteran of spears with 
you !” 

Then with her white arms she swept 
away her veil, and he cried: “Thou!” 
and locked her hands in his. >• 

Karl covered his eyes. That deep, 
wrenching engine in his breast was a for- 
gotten heart. He was alone. But as he 
stood bewildered, somewhat away from 
the light of the torches that were now set 
about the gardened space before the dais, he 


THE CONQUEROR 


253 


felt a soft touch on his arm, and, looking, 
saw that it was Hildegarde. Alone of all 
his court she came. 

“ I am no longer king,” he said brokenly, 
struggling for composure. But she smiled, 
and, unfastening her own glittering coronet, 
with its seven stars, from about her brows, 
she would have laid it at his feet, had he 
not restrained her. 

“Come,” she said simply, taking his 
hand. 

But Karl was himself again. The shock 
that had for a moment weakened his hand 
was not long to deaden his proud spirit. 
He lifted his head like a lion at bay and 
shook back his mane of red-gold hair wrath- 
fully. The cavalry, armored and plumed, 
upon the restless horses at the gate, spurred 
into line. Another moment and the crowd 
would be forced aside or trodden under 
foot. But as the signal came ; the troops 
halted. Then as the monarch was about 


254 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


to turn upon the rebels and fight, single- 
handed if need be, but fight like a man 
and warrior for his throne, a voice rose over 
the cheering of the people, — the clear, 
young voice of the wildwood boy in armor. 

“I am Clovis of the Forest,” he cried. 
“Have done with all this tumult ! ” 

The command swept like a silencing wave 
over the multitude. Karl stood still, and 
again Queen Hildegarde laid her hand on 
his arm. But from the outer gate to the 
purple pavilion there was no sound. Then 
the people saw the boy’s fair head tower 
above them within the circle of torches. 
But when they beheld Berthada standing 
so close beside him that her white robes 
veiled on one side the glittering radiance of 
his armor, they again burst into shouts, 
linking her name with his. But again he 
swept out his hand with a gesture of com- 
mand. 

“Be still and hear!” he cried, and the 


THE CONQUEROR 


255 


surging mass grew quiet as he continued : 
“If I have won some favor at your hands, if 
you would have me serve you as I may, 
turn and acclaim with loyal hearts your 
rightful lord, to whom I pledge this sword : 
“ King Karl of Swabia ! ” 

He raised the blade of Roland as he 
spoke. Again the steel sprang into living 
flame, through which his features could be 
seen, crowned with his golden hair, pale 
and beautiful. 

A moment there was silence. Then a 
mighty cry rose to the purple hills, as Karl, 
his ruddy locks illumined by the flaming 
sword, towered in all his kingliness beside 
the forester. 

“Long live King Karl! Long live 
the Swabian War-Lord !” 

The monarch felt the gathering wave of 
love sweep through his nation’s heart and 
break in that one shout around him. 

He stretched his arms toward his people. 


256 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


But twice he tried to speak, and twice he 
turned away, overcome by an emotion 
strange to his bluff breast. 

Then he said: “My children,” and a 
murmur proved the eagerness with which 
they listened to him, “I have been too 
much away from you for you to know me 
well. But take my promise that hence- 
forth I bide among you, fighting only your 
just wars, while ever, close beside me, on the 
throne, will be this prince of the white 
sword, my son, and your defender.” 

He laid his armored hand upon the 
shoulder of the silver knight as he spoke; 
and the people saw Berthada smile upon 
her father. 

Then Clovis sheathed the steel, and, kneel- 
ing, would have restored the blade to the 
hand of the singing queen, had she not 
cried : 

“ ’Tis yours, well won, my prince. Wear 
it with honor.” 


THE CONQUEROR 


257 


And she bent and kissed the brow that 
had not known, before, a mother’s kiss, as 
the voice of Sir Dugel of Kells rose sweet 
and clear, like a bell of proven gold, above 
the multitude now moving toward the 
gates : 

44 Long live Clovis, the deliverer, and his 
bride, Berthada !” 

Then the people took up the shout with a 
great voice and carried the cheering away 
out of the jousting field and into the homes 
of Swabia. 

So it came about that Clovis, the 
forester’s son, became a prince and the 
king’s son-in-law. And tasselled corn grew 
in the valleys of Swabia where there had 
been but bristling spears. The five-towered 
castle gained five towers more. And in the 
new halls lived Clovis and his lovely lady 
Berthada, in happiness, love, and honor. 

Here Dugel might be found at his tasks 
of illuminating and verse-making ; growing 


258 


THE PIPES OF CLOVIS 


gentler as the years mellowed his merry 
tongue, and happy in the happiness of all 
he loved. 

But always when the year was at the 
spring and the forest sang, Clovis went 
alone with Storm, the Best-Horse-in-the- 
World, to visit his woodland friends. And 
from his mound beneath the sycamore tree 
he played upon his pipes, for the joy of his 
old-time comrades of the green. And he 
piped the wild notes until twilight fell and 
his wife, Berthada, came to walk back with 
him, along the patteran of crimson flowers, 
to their home. 




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